Good snowy, cold morning here. Found myself back in the 6th floor oncology outpatient unit this morning getting my every three week Avastin and Zometa. The large lagoon below my window has now become a skating rink, but my steam shovel was not in action today. She must be on leave too. I feel good, no nose bleeds since the taxol stopped, and here I was blaming it on the avastin.
One this New Year's Eve day, I have committed to working through a wonderful poetry workbook called, "In the Palm of Your Hand: The Poet's Portable Workbook" (Steve Kowit). I love the way it is written so far, and I know it will take time and effort to do what it suggests, but I need to give myself permission to take the time--to say YES to this.
So, I say YES to taking a little time to learn as much as I can about poetry--the reading and the writing, as I really do believe it helps us look at ourselves, learn, and rejoice in the beauty of it.
Try this:
God Says yes to Me (Kaylin Haught)
I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even ok if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes
boy, do I wish I had written that!
I am going forth with YES!!
Sabbatical
Sabbatical!!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
In the Cold Room on Christmas Eve
Good morning. I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas, and unlike us, you have cleaned up your living room. Somehow this mess keeps the warmth of us together present, I think. Perhaps today I'll work on it. Julia Child and I made a scrumptious onion soup for my mother's 86th birthday (something my father loved to make). The cook in the family received the famous cookbook for Christmas, but she has yet to crack it...I thought I would give it a try.
I have been having a flashback to a very particular Christmas ritual my family used to perform every Christmas Eve. I'm trying to work on a poem about it. See what you think:
I have been having a flashback to a very particular Christmas ritual my family used to perform every Christmas Eve. I'm trying to work on a poem about it. See what you think:
In the Cold Room on Christmas Eve
Boxes are wrapped with precision,
paper perfect, patterns lined up.
All of us together in the cold room,
freezing behind the bar,
folding, wrapping, drinking
Grandma’s eggnog that makes us
giggle with just a sip of the heady,
nutmeg and whiskey milk.
We make sure the ribbon is curled just so.
I am the youngest, but I have learned.
We use only what paper we need.
Each piece of tape is divided several times.
This is the way I think everyone prepares,
wrapping each gift slowly,
carefully, into the wee hours,
eggnog and chatter warming us.
Somehow for all of us,
every year the same, each box
wrapped by loving hands,
admired and held up to the light,
kissed with ribbon,
laid down to wait under twinkling lights,
becomes something more.
Some piece of us, some sliver of dream
Lies swaddled deep in the folds of a sweatshirt
for him, or nestles warm and fragrant
in the pages of a cookbook for her,
expectant,
full of possibility.
Just as we are again,
tonight.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas Night (Conrad Hilberry) and December (Gary Johnson)
Merry Christmas!
We have had snow all week until today. Now it is rainy and windy and definitely not the right weather for Christmas, but oh well. We had a lovely morning. There is something quite different about Christmas with teenagers, and I think I like it. There was more excitement about giving this year and less about receiving. I love watching the maturity emerge in front of us, and how rewarding.
read these:
We have had snow all week until today. Now it is rainy and windy and definitely not the right weather for Christmas, but oh well. We had a lovely morning. There is something quite different about Christmas with teenagers, and I think I like it. There was more excitement about giving this year and less about receiving. I love watching the maturity emerge in front of us, and how rewarding.
read these:
Christmas Night (Conrad Hilberry)
Let midnight gather up the wind
and the cry of tires on bitter snow.
Let midnight call the cold dogs home,
sleet in their fur—last one can blow
the streetlights out. If children sleep
after the day’s unfoldings, the wheel
of gifts and griefs, may their breathing
ease the strange hollowness we feel.
Let midnight draw whoever’s left
to the grate where a burnt-out log unrolls
low mutterings of smoke until
a small fire wakes in its crib of coals.
December (Gary Johnson)
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
Cheers and Merry Christmas
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Green Tea (Dale Ritterbusch)
This morning is cold here, so cold! But also sunny and snowy and Christmas-y. I have spent a little while looking through poems finding peace and solace and joy, as always, but also delight in new perspectives on common things, like fences and table umbrellas and green tea. I do think poetry is amazing in its ability to show us new ways of looking at life, and good poets always teach me something new about describing or feeling or knowing. Poetry also allows me a place to grieve, to remember, to bear witness, to understand, and to love....wonderful.
try this:
Green Tea
try this:
Green Tea
There is this tea
I have sometimes,
Pan Long Ying Hao,
so tightly curled
it looks like tiny roots
gnarled, a greenish-gray.
When it steeps, it opens
the way you woke this morning,
stretching, your hands behind
your head, back arched,
toes pointing, a smile steeped
in ceremony, a celebration,
the reaching of your arms.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I Watch Them Amazed
I awoke this morning to the pulsing of a full house of sleeping people. Know that feeling? I can feel it when everyone is here, vibrating in their warm beds. I wandered from room to room looking at the big, hairy thighs sticking out from my son's bed, and the dog's nose tucked into his armpit, her body almost as long as his. In my daughter's room, she sleeps much more quietly, much more gently than he does. Maybe it is the dog I hear snoring, but I think it's the boy....or the husband. I love this feeling, this is a holiday feeling. No one having a sleep over, no other kids around on all surfaces and beds, just us. There is a wonderful feeling of connection and love in this stillness. Here's something I wrote. Try it out:
I watch them amazed
I watch them amazed
They are both so beautiful.
He well-muscled, seventeen, tousled hair, that smile.
She as tall as he, a slim beauty with long blonde hair,
a knock out at fourteen.
They are mine but even more,
they are each other’s.
He has loved her out loud even unborn,
my stethoscope in his ears, dancing to her heartbeat.
In those black batman boots, he sang to her and
offered his favorite toy when she arrived.
All these years have slipped like
shuffled cards through my hands
and here he is needing her advice on colleges,
making sure his girlfriend gets the nod.
And she initially teasing him so,
making him jump through hoops to love her,
but needing him too, watching his every move,
making him laugh, helping him write,
becoming a beauty he loves to defend.
What finer reward of parenting than love?
Theirs as sure a thing as Spring’s arrival,
as divine.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Susanna (Anne Porter) and peace
Awake this morning to snow and cold and ....quiet. My lovely husband was still beside me at 8:30am! Ah, a little peace and less chaos; what a blessing. I hauled myself to an exercise class I wasn't so sure I was up to, but it was joyful and just right. During the class, the teacher told us of her travels through India and her time at several ashrams. At one of these, she met an instructor who said to her that we have to consider whether we are
living in peace, or living in pieces.
try this from the Writer's Almanac:
Susanna (Anne Porter)
Nobody in the hospital
Could tell the age
Of the old woman who
Was called Susanna
I knew she spoke some English
And that she was an immigrant
Out of a little country
Trampled by armies
Because she had no visitors
I would stop by to see her
But she was always sleeping
All I could do
Was to get out her comb
And carefully untangle
The tangles in her hair
One day I was beside her
When she woke up
Opening small dark eyes
Of a surprising clearness
She looked at me and said
You want to know the truth?
I answered Yes
She said it's something that
My mother told me
There's not a single inch
Of our whole body
That the Lord does not love
She then went back to sleep.
Could tell the age
Of the old woman who
Was called Susanna
I knew she spoke some English
And that she was an immigrant
Out of a little country
Trampled by armies
Because she had no visitors
I would stop by to see her
But she was always sleeping
All I could do
Was to get out her comb
And carefully untangle
The tangles in her hair
One day I was beside her
When she woke up
Opening small dark eyes
Of a surprising clearness
She looked at me and said
You want to know the truth?
I answered Yes
She said it's something that
My mother told me
There's not a single inch
Of our whole body
That the Lord does not love
She then went back to sleep.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Remember (Joy Harjo)
I have now revived after about 9 weeks of feeling pretty awful on chemo. The good news is my scans look great and I am off the Taxane that made my feel so very tired after about 3 months. Feeling much better and able to get Christmas together with the family, and that is a wonderful thing. Today is cold and snowy and quite the perfect winter day here, and even the dog is happy as she awaits some snowballs thrown in her direction.
I have been sitting here in the quiet kitchen thinking about how lucky I am, and how much I have learned about many things--myself, living with disease, living outside the shadow of disease, kids, husbands, taking time to reflect and pay attention. That's important, isn't it--paying attention. I hadn't realized just how much of life I wasn't paying attention to, and how fast it all ran past me. Now, due to so many things I am infinitely grateful for, I am striving to be mindful and pay attention to my life.
enjoy this:
I have been sitting here in the quiet kitchen thinking about how lucky I am, and how much I have learned about many things--myself, living with disease, living outside the shadow of disease, kids, husbands, taking time to reflect and pay attention. That's important, isn't it--paying attention. I hadn't realized just how much of life I wasn't paying attention to, and how fast it all ran past me. Now, due to so many things I am infinitely grateful for, I am striving to be mindful and pay attention to my life.
enjoy this:
Remember
Remember the sky that you were born under,
Know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is. I met her
In a bar once in Iowa City.
Remember the sun’s breath at dawn, that is the
Strongest point of time. Remember the sundown
And the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
To give you form and breath. You are evidence of
Her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
Red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
Brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, anumal life who all have their
Tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
Listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
Origin of this universe. I heard her singing Kiowa war
Dance songs at the corner of Fourth and Central once.
Remember that you are all people and that all people
Are you.
Remember that you are this universe and that this universe is you.
Remember that all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember that language comes from this.
Remember the dance that language is, that life is.
Remember.
(Joy Harjo)
Starfish (Eleanor Lerman)
Cycle 6, last paclitaxol treatment!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 27, 2009 Edit
Dear All, Sitting here as the sun pierces the heavy snow-laden clouds getting my last infusion of this nasty drug that leaves me tired, hairless, and sore! Yippee!! Ok, so I'll feel yucky for the next two weeks, but after that, all these side effects will slowly resolve and hair will regrow. It is all good.
My steam shovel is quiet this morning as everyone is off work today. The hole in the road outside the cancer center does not appear to have changed even the slightest bit since I started sitting up here almost 6 months ago! I hope everyone had a joyous celebration yesterday. We certainly did thanks especially to Katie Gilkeson who helped so much with food, made pies, polished the silver and made the fabulous nameplates for the table. Amazing!
Well, I will now start writing every three weeks when I come back to the cancer center to receive the Avastin infusion. Until then, stay warm and thanks for listening!
Try this:
Starfish (Eleanor Lerman)
This is what life does. It lets you walk up to
the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a
stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have
your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman
down beside you at the counter who say, Last night,
the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,
is this a message, finally, or just another day?
Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the
pond, where whole generations of biological
processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds
speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,
they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old
enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?
There is movement beneath the water, but it
may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.
And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are
genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have
become. And then life lets you go home to think
about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.
Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that
you are lucky. (It won’t give you smart or brave,
so you’ll have to settle for lucky.) Because you
were born at a good time. Because you were able
to listen when people spoke to you. Because you
stopped when you should have and started again.
So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your
late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And
then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,
while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,
with smiles on their starry faces as they head
out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 27, 2009 Edit
Dear All, Sitting here as the sun pierces the heavy snow-laden clouds getting my last infusion of this nasty drug that leaves me tired, hairless, and sore! Yippee!! Ok, so I'll feel yucky for the next two weeks, but after that, all these side effects will slowly resolve and hair will regrow. It is all good.
My steam shovel is quiet this morning as everyone is off work today. The hole in the road outside the cancer center does not appear to have changed even the slightest bit since I started sitting up here almost 6 months ago! I hope everyone had a joyous celebration yesterday. We certainly did thanks especially to Katie Gilkeson who helped so much with food, made pies, polished the silver and made the fabulous nameplates for the table. Amazing!
Well, I will now start writing every three weeks when I come back to the cancer center to receive the Avastin infusion. Until then, stay warm and thanks for listening!
Try this:
Starfish (Eleanor Lerman)
This is what life does. It lets you walk up to
the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a
stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have
your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman
down beside you at the counter who say, Last night,
the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,
is this a message, finally, or just another day?
Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the
pond, where whole generations of biological
processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds
speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,
they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old
enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?
There is movement beneath the water, but it
may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.
And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are
genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have
become. And then life lets you go home to think
about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.
Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that
you are lucky. (It won’t give you smart or brave,
so you’ll have to settle for lucky.) Because you
were born at a good time. Because you were able
to listen when people spoke to you. Because you
stopped when you should have and started again.
So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your
late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And
then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,
while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,
with smiles on their starry faces as they head
out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.
The Peace of Wild Things (Wendell Berry)
Cycle 6, treatment #1
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 20, 2009 Edit
Good Afternoon, everyone! Ok, today is a VERY special day. I can't give you an update on my steam shovel, as she is not visible from this chemo room, but i can give an update on my scan from wednesday. I have a PET scan about every 3-6 months (labelled glucose molecules that get taken up by rapidly dividing cells like tumor cells or infection resulting in these areas lighting up on the scan). Usually, it is just always a little worse, kind of all over my spine and R hip and femur with things lighting up all around--you know, no fun to get the results.
But this time is somewhat different! Are you ready? My scan show, and i quote, "Impression: No definite evidence of an active neoplastic process. The previously described multifocal skeletal abnormalities are no longer evident."
Chip's colleague who always reads my scans went running down the hall to find Chip because he couldn't believe the scan! Ok, I asked him to make sure they gave me the tracer, but the scan clearly shows the tracer in bone marrow and at the injection site, so it sounds real.
how about them apples? The doc thinks it is all from the Avastin I am receiving. This is a targeted therapy that kills new blood vessels produced by the tumor. The guy who discovered that tumors are dependent on this idea of angiogenesis (making new blood vessels to supply the rapidly-dividing tumor cells with nutrients) was thought of as a complete quack! I think it just bought me a new life! Thank you doctor Judah Folkman ( I heard him talk a year or two ago--born in Cleveland, no less)!!
Love this beauty by Wendell Berry:
THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry
Cheers to all!
I will receive one more week of the other drug I get that made my hair fall off, nails bleed, all those things. I will continue on with the Avastin indefinitely. sounds like a plan to me!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 20, 2009 Edit
Good Afternoon, everyone! Ok, today is a VERY special day. I can't give you an update on my steam shovel, as she is not visible from this chemo room, but i can give an update on my scan from wednesday. I have a PET scan about every 3-6 months (labelled glucose molecules that get taken up by rapidly dividing cells like tumor cells or infection resulting in these areas lighting up on the scan). Usually, it is just always a little worse, kind of all over my spine and R hip and femur with things lighting up all around--you know, no fun to get the results.
But this time is somewhat different! Are you ready? My scan show, and i quote, "Impression: No definite evidence of an active neoplastic process. The previously described multifocal skeletal abnormalities are no longer evident."
Chip's colleague who always reads my scans went running down the hall to find Chip because he couldn't believe the scan! Ok, I asked him to make sure they gave me the tracer, but the scan clearly shows the tracer in bone marrow and at the injection site, so it sounds real.
how about them apples? The doc thinks it is all from the Avastin I am receiving. This is a targeted therapy that kills new blood vessels produced by the tumor. The guy who discovered that tumors are dependent on this idea of angiogenesis (making new blood vessels to supply the rapidly-dividing tumor cells with nutrients) was thought of as a complete quack! I think it just bought me a new life! Thank you doctor Judah Folkman ( I heard him talk a year or two ago--born in Cleveland, no less)!!
Love this beauty by Wendell Berry:
THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry
Cheers to all!
I will receive one more week of the other drug I get that made my hair fall off, nails bleed, all those things. I will continue on with the Avastin indefinitely. sounds like a plan to me!
Izumi Sikibu
Cycle 5, off week
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 13, 2009 Edit
All, I am off this week, yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Today, I finally feel truly better after three long weeks of flu and chemo, etc, etc. So, I'll keep it short, but say a huge thank you for the dinners that have really, really, really helped us this week. THANK YOU! I am getting scanned next week and this will help my physician decide the length of my chemo treatments. Cross your fingers for a quick end and the start of some hair growth. I realize, as the days get colder, that a layer of hair next to the skin is really insulating! I'm cold!!
Try this, by Izumi Shikibu:
It is true the wind
blows terribly here--
but moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house. (Izumi Shikibu)
Enjoy the beautiful weekend! love, Lissa
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 13, 2009 Edit
All, I am off this week, yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Today, I finally feel truly better after three long weeks of flu and chemo, etc, etc. So, I'll keep it short, but say a huge thank you for the dinners that have really, really, really helped us this week. THANK YOU! I am getting scanned next week and this will help my physician decide the length of my chemo treatments. Cross your fingers for a quick end and the start of some hair growth. I realize, as the days get colder, that a layer of hair next to the skin is really insulating! I'm cold!!
Try this, by Izumi Shikibu:
It is true the wind
blows terribly here--
but moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house. (Izumi Shikibu)
Enjoy the beautiful weekend! love, Lissa
The Geese (Jorie Graham)
cycle 5, treatment #2
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 6, 2009 Edit
I wrote this yesterday, Thursday, but the UH internet was down!
I’m sitting in my usual spot staring out at the immobile steam engine this morning. The wind is whipping up the coverings of all the deep holes I look out over. I think this chemo is beginning to make me persistently tired and crotchety. I have a bit of neuropathy now too so that my fingernails and toenails are incredibly sore….weird and very unpleasant. This also affects my taste buds so that things don’t taste right—and I’m whining because I don’t like any of this at all! Ok, now I feel a little better.
I see from this window a small tree tucked into the buildings, and it still has some of its very red leaves with a little patch of green grass underneath it. It is a lovely little blaze of color in the grey world around it. . Chip is off to Germany this weekend, the kids are done with Fall sports and are enjoying some freer afternoon time, and I’ve found that naps on the 3rd floor are a joy in the early afternoon as I can just see the sun slide down over the top of the reddish yellow leaves of the tall maple out the little window—very cosy and nice. I’ve now read The Help, Cutting for Stone, and am deep into Edgar Sawtelle in the last 2 weeks. I would recommend them all highly!
We had a tough day all around THursday with post-chemo tiredness and movers bringing stuff from Chip’s mother’s place and utter chaos. Thank goodness Chip was home because I might have gone out the window—but, it is better this fine Friday morning, and although we have chaos in every room, there is a glimmer of a plan.
My friend Dan sent me this poem about days like today. Hope you like it:
The Geese By Jorie Graham
Today as I hang out the wash I see them again, a code
as urgent as elegant,
tapering with goals.
For days they have been crossing. We live beneath these geese
as if beneath the passage of time, or a most perfect heading.
Sometimes I fear their relevance.
Closest at hand,
between the lines,
the spiders imitate the paths the geese won't stray from,
imitate them endlessly to no avail:
things will not remain connected,
will not heal,
and the world thickens with texture instead of history,
texture instead of place.
Yet the small fear of the spiders
binds and binds
the pins to the lines, the lines to the eaves, to the pincushion bush,
as if, at any time, things could fall further apart
and nothing could help them
recover their meaning. And if these spiders had their way,
chainlink over the visible world,
would we be in or out? I turn to go back in.
There is a feeling the body gives the mind
of having missed something, a bedrock poverty, like falling
without the sense that you are passing through the one world,
that you could reach another
anytime. Instead the real
is crossing you,
your body an arrival
you know is false but can't outrun. And somewhere in between
these geese forever entering and
these spiders turning back,
this astonishing delay, the everyday, takes place.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, November 6, 2009 Edit
I wrote this yesterday, Thursday, but the UH internet was down!
I’m sitting in my usual spot staring out at the immobile steam engine this morning. The wind is whipping up the coverings of all the deep holes I look out over. I think this chemo is beginning to make me persistently tired and crotchety. I have a bit of neuropathy now too so that my fingernails and toenails are incredibly sore….weird and very unpleasant. This also affects my taste buds so that things don’t taste right—and I’m whining because I don’t like any of this at all! Ok, now I feel a little better.
I see from this window a small tree tucked into the buildings, and it still has some of its very red leaves with a little patch of green grass underneath it. It is a lovely little blaze of color in the grey world around it. . Chip is off to Germany this weekend, the kids are done with Fall sports and are enjoying some freer afternoon time, and I’ve found that naps on the 3rd floor are a joy in the early afternoon as I can just see the sun slide down over the top of the reddish yellow leaves of the tall maple out the little window—very cosy and nice. I’ve now read The Help, Cutting for Stone, and am deep into Edgar Sawtelle in the last 2 weeks. I would recommend them all highly!
We had a tough day all around THursday with post-chemo tiredness and movers bringing stuff from Chip’s mother’s place and utter chaos. Thank goodness Chip was home because I might have gone out the window—but, it is better this fine Friday morning, and although we have chaos in every room, there is a glimmer of a plan.
My friend Dan sent me this poem about days like today. Hope you like it:
The Geese By Jorie Graham
Today as I hang out the wash I see them again, a code
as urgent as elegant,
tapering with goals.
For days they have been crossing. We live beneath these geese
as if beneath the passage of time, or a most perfect heading.
Sometimes I fear their relevance.
Closest at hand,
between the lines,
the spiders imitate the paths the geese won't stray from,
imitate them endlessly to no avail:
things will not remain connected,
will not heal,
and the world thickens with texture instead of history,
texture instead of place.
Yet the small fear of the spiders
binds and binds
the pins to the lines, the lines to the eaves, to the pincushion bush,
as if, at any time, things could fall further apart
and nothing could help them
recover their meaning. And if these spiders had their way,
chainlink over the visible world,
would we be in or out? I turn to go back in.
There is a feeling the body gives the mind
of having missed something, a bedrock poverty, like falling
without the sense that you are passing through the one world,
that you could reach another
anytime. Instead the real
is crossing you,
your body an arrival
you know is false but can't outrun. And somewhere in between
these geese forever entering and
these spiders turning back,
this astonishing delay, the everyday, takes place.
The Digging (Rennie McQuilkin)
Cycle 5, treatment #1
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Thursday, October 29, 2009 Edit
All, I am here a day early in my chair overlooking Cornell Rd and my steam shovel is doing her graceful dance digging holes and patting down dirt. She is very lovely, really , and she moves with such precision that I never get tired of watching her work. There are people all over the place, right next to her, on top of her, within her, beside her, and no one looks remotely worried that they will be injured!
anyway, I am feeling much improved today....but Chip is at home out cold and held down by the H1n1 viral badboy...oops. sorry, honey! Luckily, the kids have been spared so far. All the unlucky medical students are home suffering with flu or taking one of their first big tests today--I'd rather be sitting here, if you know what I mean!
Oh, the picture. Last week was Will's last home football game (he's a senior), and the senior parents, wild and weird group that they are, were honored. Here we are in our University School finest, and a flower for the moms. Ok, they lost, but it was a good game!
I received this poem about digging potatoes in autumn a few days ago. don't know exactly, but it lovely somehow. See what you think:
The Digging
by Rennie McQuilkin
It's that time of year,
the hedgerows hung with bittersweet.
Potato time.
How early the freeze, I'd say
if we were speaking. We're not.
We turn our spading forks against
the earth. It's stiff,
the Reds and Idahos hard as stone,
a total loss.
Once it was us against the beetles,
blight, whatever was not potato.
How they flowered, rows and rows
in white. Now look.
We give it one last try, and there
far down in softer soil,
a seam of them still perfect.
One after another
we hold them up to the dying day,
kneel down to sift for more.
In the dark of the earth, I come upon
your hand, you mine.
Hope everyone is staying warm and virus-free. Wash your hands!! I will ask again for some food help after next week's chemo, but thanks to all who made last week so much easier.
cheers,
Lissa
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Thursday, October 29, 2009 Edit
All, I am here a day early in my chair overlooking Cornell Rd and my steam shovel is doing her graceful dance digging holes and patting down dirt. She is very lovely, really , and she moves with such precision that I never get tired of watching her work. There are people all over the place, right next to her, on top of her, within her, beside her, and no one looks remotely worried that they will be injured!
anyway, I am feeling much improved today....but Chip is at home out cold and held down by the H1n1 viral badboy...oops. sorry, honey! Luckily, the kids have been spared so far. All the unlucky medical students are home suffering with flu or taking one of their first big tests today--I'd rather be sitting here, if you know what I mean!
Oh, the picture. Last week was Will's last home football game (he's a senior), and the senior parents, wild and weird group that they are, were honored. Here we are in our University School finest, and a flower for the moms. Ok, they lost, but it was a good game!
I received this poem about digging potatoes in autumn a few days ago. don't know exactly, but it lovely somehow. See what you think:
The Digging
by Rennie McQuilkin
It's that time of year,
the hedgerows hung with bittersweet.
Potato time.
How early the freeze, I'd say
if we were speaking. We're not.
We turn our spading forks against
the earth. It's stiff,
the Reds and Idahos hard as stone,
a total loss.
Once it was us against the beetles,
blight, whatever was not potato.
How they flowered, rows and rows
in white. Now look.
We give it one last try, and there
far down in softer soil,
a seam of them still perfect.
One after another
we hold them up to the dying day,
kneel down to sift for more.
In the dark of the earth, I come upon
your hand, you mine.
Hope everyone is staying warm and virus-free. Wash your hands!! I will ask again for some food help after next week's chemo, but thanks to all who made last week so much easier.
cheers,
Lissa
The Bath (Holly Hughes)
Cycle 4, off week
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, October 23, 2009 Edit
Good morning, everyone. I am off this week, thank goodness! The medical school is now full of sick students who have or probably have the novel H1N1 flu...so, guess what. I have it too. I have been struggling under the weight of the person pinning my limbs to the bed, or so it seems. He seems to be easing his hold this morning, however. Ugh. But a better ugh this morning than the last few mornings.
I wanted to tell everyone how wonderful the poetry reading was by Holly Hughes and Tess Gallagher! I think I was beginning to feel poorly at the event, as I was really dragging there, but I still appreciated the specialness and intimacy of the event. I think we had about 8 or 10 students and 6 or 8 faculty members.
Both of these poets had lost mothers to Alzheimer's. Holly H. realized that this experience has probably been shared by writers across the globe, and she solicited pieces for this book and got 500 submissions. She edited this down to the 100 that make up the book.
She asked Tess G. (Raymond Carver's wife) to write the forward. So Tess read her forward about the year she moved her mother into her house as she died of Alzheimer's. Then they both read pieces from the book. I think what was most remarkable was the sense of witnessing this illness in a new way through poetry--poetry that is so urgent and accessible. In addition, most pieces, and certainly both poets, related that there were always pieces of light in these Alzheimer's stories. Gifts that both caregiver and patient received.
The students were riveted. In most cases, they don't have much experience being immersed in the human side of disease, and I think this is what poetry does, doesn't it. It makes the subject lived by the reader. anyway, it was a remarkable two hours--funny, poignant, sad, horrible, hilarious and always gorgeous. how inspirational!
Here's an example:
The Bath
(Holly Hughes)
The tub fills inch by inch,
As I kneel beside it, trail my fingers
In the bright braid of water.
Mom perches on the toilet seat,
Entranced by the ritual until
She realizes the bath’s for her.
Oh no, she says, drawing her
Three layers of shrits to her chest,
Crossing her arms and legs.
Oh no, I couldn’t, she repeats,
Brow furrowing, that look I now
Recognize like an approaching squall.
I abandon reason, the hygiene argument,
Promise a Hershey’s bar, if she will just,
Please, take off her clothes. Oh no,
She repeats, her voice rising.
Meanwhile, the wter is cooling.
I strip off my clothes, step into it,
Let the warm water take me
Completely, slipping down until
Only my face shines up, a moon mask.
Mom stays with me, interested now
In this turn of events. I sit up.
Will you wash my back, Mom?
So much gone, but let this
Still be there. She bends over
To dip the washcloth in the still
warm water, squeeze it,
lets it dribble down my back,
leans over to rub the butter pat
of soap, swiping each armpit,
then rinses off the suds with long
practiced strokes. I turn around
to thank her, catch her smiling,
lips pursed, humming,
still a mother with a daughter
whose back needs washing.
thanks to everyone who brought food this week! the timing was perfect! More news next Friday.
the picture is the cover of the book Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose about Alzheimer's Disease.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, October 23, 2009 Edit
Good morning, everyone. I am off this week, thank goodness! The medical school is now full of sick students who have or probably have the novel H1N1 flu...so, guess what. I have it too. I have been struggling under the weight of the person pinning my limbs to the bed, or so it seems. He seems to be easing his hold this morning, however. Ugh. But a better ugh this morning than the last few mornings.
I wanted to tell everyone how wonderful the poetry reading was by Holly Hughes and Tess Gallagher! I think I was beginning to feel poorly at the event, as I was really dragging there, but I still appreciated the specialness and intimacy of the event. I think we had about 8 or 10 students and 6 or 8 faculty members.
Both of these poets had lost mothers to Alzheimer's. Holly H. realized that this experience has probably been shared by writers across the globe, and she solicited pieces for this book and got 500 submissions. She edited this down to the 100 that make up the book.
She asked Tess G. (Raymond Carver's wife) to write the forward. So Tess read her forward about the year she moved her mother into her house as she died of Alzheimer's. Then they both read pieces from the book. I think what was most remarkable was the sense of witnessing this illness in a new way through poetry--poetry that is so urgent and accessible. In addition, most pieces, and certainly both poets, related that there were always pieces of light in these Alzheimer's stories. Gifts that both caregiver and patient received.
The students were riveted. In most cases, they don't have much experience being immersed in the human side of disease, and I think this is what poetry does, doesn't it. It makes the subject lived by the reader. anyway, it was a remarkable two hours--funny, poignant, sad, horrible, hilarious and always gorgeous. how inspirational!
Here's an example:
The Bath
(Holly Hughes)
The tub fills inch by inch,
As I kneel beside it, trail my fingers
In the bright braid of water.
Mom perches on the toilet seat,
Entranced by the ritual until
She realizes the bath’s for her.
Oh no, she says, drawing her
Three layers of shrits to her chest,
Crossing her arms and legs.
Oh no, I couldn’t, she repeats,
Brow furrowing, that look I now
Recognize like an approaching squall.
I abandon reason, the hygiene argument,
Promise a Hershey’s bar, if she will just,
Please, take off her clothes. Oh no,
She repeats, her voice rising.
Meanwhile, the wter is cooling.
I strip off my clothes, step into it,
Let the warm water take me
Completely, slipping down until
Only my face shines up, a moon mask.
Mom stays with me, interested now
In this turn of events. I sit up.
Will you wash my back, Mom?
So much gone, but let this
Still be there. She bends over
To dip the washcloth in the still
warm water, squeeze it,
lets it dribble down my back,
leans over to rub the butter pat
of soap, swiping each armpit,
then rinses off the suds with long
practiced strokes. I turn around
to thank her, catch her smiling,
lips pursed, humming,
still a mother with a daughter
whose back needs washing.
thanks to everyone who brought food this week! the timing was perfect! More news next Friday.
the picture is the cover of the book Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose about Alzheimer's Disease.
Ancestors (Harvey Ellis)
chemo cycle 4, number two
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, October 16, 2009 Edit
Hi Everyone, I'm here sitting in my chair watching miss steam shovel continue to help cover and uncover holes in the road below. I was sure that my counts were too low today, but they were much better than last week.....I cannot explain that. I thought I could read the way my body feels, and oops, I'm completely wrong.
Something had me thinking about my father's mother yesterday. She was short, but could fill up a room. I hear that booming laugh and feel her press a Vernor's into my hand and a cheese puff. She was very feminine, too. Maybe that was it. I still feel a little shock when I look in the mirror and realize that I have no hair. Last week, I found a scarf in the sale bin at Nordstrom's that has long fring all around it. when I have it on my head, I have long pink hair! somehow, as I looked in the mirror as I tied this scarf on and felt the pink hair fall around my face, I felt Grandmarnie smile at me. Very nice.
Yesterday, Chip and I met over at our daughter's school for a very dry talk on paying for college and filling out forms and scholarship applications, etc. As I told Betsy F this morning, here's what I took away:
You have to be a homeless, dying, retired, abusive step-parent who has hidden all his/her assets in innumerable expensive cars to readily pay for college! oh, on that front, sounds like Will has decided that he wants to play lacrosse and go to Bates, so that's exciting too. Now we just need to cash in those porsches!
Speaking of ancestors, try this:
ancestors
by Harvey Ellis
my ancestors surround me
like walls of a canyon
quiet
stone hard
their ideas drift over me
like breezes at sunset
we gather sticks
and make settlements
what we do is only partly
our own
and partly continuation
down through the chromosomes
my son
my baby sleeps behind me
stirring in the night
for the touch
that lets him continue
he is arranging
in his small form the furniture
and windows of his home
it will be a lot like mine
it will be a lot like theirs
thanks everone for signing up for food this week. If I feel we need more help next week, I'll ask and send a message.
cheers!
Lissa
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, October 16, 2009 Edit
Hi Everyone, I'm here sitting in my chair watching miss steam shovel continue to help cover and uncover holes in the road below. I was sure that my counts were too low today, but they were much better than last week.....I cannot explain that. I thought I could read the way my body feels, and oops, I'm completely wrong.
Something had me thinking about my father's mother yesterday. She was short, but could fill up a room. I hear that booming laugh and feel her press a Vernor's into my hand and a cheese puff. She was very feminine, too. Maybe that was it. I still feel a little shock when I look in the mirror and realize that I have no hair. Last week, I found a scarf in the sale bin at Nordstrom's that has long fring all around it. when I have it on my head, I have long pink hair! somehow, as I looked in the mirror as I tied this scarf on and felt the pink hair fall around my face, I felt Grandmarnie smile at me. Very nice.
Yesterday, Chip and I met over at our daughter's school for a very dry talk on paying for college and filling out forms and scholarship applications, etc. As I told Betsy F this morning, here's what I took away:
You have to be a homeless, dying, retired, abusive step-parent who has hidden all his/her assets in innumerable expensive cars to readily pay for college! oh, on that front, sounds like Will has decided that he wants to play lacrosse and go to Bates, so that's exciting too. Now we just need to cash in those porsches!
Speaking of ancestors, try this:
ancestors
by Harvey Ellis
my ancestors surround me
like walls of a canyon
quiet
stone hard
their ideas drift over me
like breezes at sunset
we gather sticks
and make settlements
what we do is only partly
our own
and partly continuation
down through the chromosomes
my son
my baby sleeps behind me
stirring in the night
for the touch
that lets him continue
he is arranging
in his small form the furniture
and windows of his home
it will be a lot like mine
it will be a lot like theirs
thanks everone for signing up for food this week. If I feel we need more help next week, I'll ask and send a message.
cheers!
Lissa
(Augeries of innocence (William Blake)
off week, cycle three
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, October 2, 2009 Edit
All, I am reveling in NOT being in the chemo seat today! I went to a conference in DC on Tuesday and I am now in NYC and off to Stamford now to see my sister and her family. I wandered around NYC this morning, as I have begun to love to do, and I found the Morgan Library on 36th and Madison, and they had a William Blake exhibit--showing off his poetry, engravings and paintings. Who knew??
I had the most amazing experience hearing Jeremy Irons reading a piece of The Augeries of Innocence by William Blake as I followed the text in his handwriting from his notebook under glass in the exhibit....ok, very, very cool....as is the place and the JP Morgan's library, etc. Wonderful little cafe too, if anyone wants a wonderful place to go in NYC.
Here's the beginning of Augeries of Innocence:
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
Talk to everyone on cycle 3, week 4 next friday
have a great weekend!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, October 2, 2009 Edit
All, I am reveling in NOT being in the chemo seat today! I went to a conference in DC on Tuesday and I am now in NYC and off to Stamford now to see my sister and her family. I wandered around NYC this morning, as I have begun to love to do, and I found the Morgan Library on 36th and Madison, and they had a William Blake exhibit--showing off his poetry, engravings and paintings. Who knew??
I had the most amazing experience hearing Jeremy Irons reading a piece of The Augeries of Innocence by William Blake as I followed the text in his handwriting from his notebook under glass in the exhibit....ok, very, very cool....as is the place and the JP Morgan's library, etc. Wonderful little cafe too, if anyone wants a wonderful place to go in NYC.
Here's the beginning of Augeries of Innocence:
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
Talk to everyone on cycle 3, week 4 next friday
have a great weekend!
The Waking (Theodore Roethke)
start of cycle 3 after our Wyoming romp!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, September 18, 2009 Edit
All, we have returned from the Grand Tetons and the Gros Ventre River Ranch, and re-entry has been.....slow! I just heard a dear friend's daughter give her senior speech at my old high school. Julia was amazing--poised, articulate, funny, poignant--all about her experience on a solo for 4 days during her time at the Mountain School. she talked about being alone, she wondered if we are ever really alone, she thought about the difference between being alone and being lonely, and then she talked about what we all could learn about ourselves if we ever allow ourselves to be alone.....amazing at 17....amazing at 100! And then I felt very alone leaving immediately to sit in this chair and watch poisons drip in...but then i got over myself and tried to think about this time and how much I value having alone time, even if it is while I'm getting chemotherapy. I think I have begun to know myself so much more through both dealing with cancer, but also by allowing myself time to be alone and think.....about priorities, about how I want to spend the rest of my time, about who I am really....you know, the big stuff. So, thank you Julia for validating taking time to know ourselves for who we are!
A pair of students gave me a wonderful poetry book with a CD of actors reading each poem. Try this one by Theodore Roethke:
The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
Cheers to all,
more news next week at this time!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, September 18, 2009 Edit
All, we have returned from the Grand Tetons and the Gros Ventre River Ranch, and re-entry has been.....slow! I just heard a dear friend's daughter give her senior speech at my old high school. Julia was amazing--poised, articulate, funny, poignant--all about her experience on a solo for 4 days during her time at the Mountain School. she talked about being alone, she wondered if we are ever really alone, she thought about the difference between being alone and being lonely, and then she talked about what we all could learn about ourselves if we ever allow ourselves to be alone.....amazing at 17....amazing at 100! And then I felt very alone leaving immediately to sit in this chair and watch poisons drip in...but then i got over myself and tried to think about this time and how much I value having alone time, even if it is while I'm getting chemotherapy. I think I have begun to know myself so much more through both dealing with cancer, but also by allowing myself time to be alone and think.....about priorities, about how I want to spend the rest of my time, about who I am really....you know, the big stuff. So, thank you Julia for validating taking time to know ourselves for who we are!
A pair of students gave me a wonderful poetry book with a CD of actors reading each poem. Try this one by Theodore Roethke:
The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
Cheers to all,
more news next week at this time!
Good Morning
good morning everyone
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, September 4, 2009 Edit
All, just checking in as I am off chemo this week (yippee!).
Just want to report that while my hair stubbornly refuses to grow back in, I am feeling good and packing my gear for our Wyoming foray next friday.
If anyone saw the New York TImes on Tuesday, there was an interesting article about receiving chemotherapy for the second time. First of all, I should have written it, but even so, it really hits home for me. I have been writing about seeing more clearly since my initial diagnosis,and this is really what the article is about--the clarity that comes with having your life challenged, and when well, how easy it is to forget this piece!!
I am glad to remember it and I am so glad for all of you. thanks for sharing with me (or at least letting me share with you!).
I will upload some wyoming pics as soon as we have them.
cheers,
Lissa
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, September 4, 2009 Edit
All, just checking in as I am off chemo this week (yippee!).
Just want to report that while my hair stubbornly refuses to grow back in, I am feeling good and packing my gear for our Wyoming foray next friday.
If anyone saw the New York TImes on Tuesday, there was an interesting article about receiving chemotherapy for the second time. First of all, I should have written it, but even so, it really hits home for me. I have been writing about seeing more clearly since my initial diagnosis,and this is really what the article is about--the clarity that comes with having your life challenged, and when well, how easy it is to forget this piece!!
I am glad to remember it and I am so glad for all of you. thanks for sharing with me (or at least letting me share with you!).
I will upload some wyoming pics as soon as we have them.
cheers,
Lissa
Storm (Brooks Haxton)
Cycle 2, chemo almost 3
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, August 28, 2009 Edit
Goodmorning my friends,
I arrived at my usual 7:30am to find my counts just like last time at this part of the cycle, too low to proceed. At least I understand what I've been feeling. I got the other drug in a quick 1/2 hour session and was finished at 9am!
Now I am off until 9/18 as I am going for a little foray into the wilds of the Tetons for a few days to hike and ride and perhaps learn to flyfish--something I've always wanted to do! I'm going to try to get my sister on a horse and take too many pictures as we laugh ourselves silly.....Yeeehawwww!
I will ask Judi Kovach to halp organize some food help next cycle. the week I will be low again will be the week of 9/28/09--which of course is my birthday week....! thank you all in advance!
Out my window up here today looks a little like this:
Storm (Brooks Haxton)
Cattle egrets in the dry grass waded
like white clerics at the hooves
of brood cows, heifers, and new calves.
Forked lightning. Calm.
The darkness in the cattle tank welled up
and flooded the reflection of the trees.
Turkey vultures wheeled, and wheeled away.
No swifts, no swallows, children gone indoors.
Rain seethed into the willowtops,
sky flashing, while the black bull
under the water locust glowed
with an inward surge of darkness.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, August 28, 2009 Edit
Goodmorning my friends,
I arrived at my usual 7:30am to find my counts just like last time at this part of the cycle, too low to proceed. At least I understand what I've been feeling. I got the other drug in a quick 1/2 hour session and was finished at 9am!
Now I am off until 9/18 as I am going for a little foray into the wilds of the Tetons for a few days to hike and ride and perhaps learn to flyfish--something I've always wanted to do! I'm going to try to get my sister on a horse and take too many pictures as we laugh ourselves silly.....Yeeehawwww!
I will ask Judi Kovach to halp organize some food help next cycle. the week I will be low again will be the week of 9/28/09--which of course is my birthday week....! thank you all in advance!
Out my window up here today looks a little like this:
Storm (Brooks Haxton)
Cattle egrets in the dry grass waded
like white clerics at the hooves
of brood cows, heifers, and new calves.
Forked lightning. Calm.
The darkness in the cattle tank welled up
and flooded the reflection of the trees.
Turkey vultures wheeled, and wheeled away.
No swifts, no swallows, children gone indoors.
Rain seethed into the willowtops,
sky flashing, while the black bull
under the water locust glowed
with an inward surge of darkness.
Isumi Shikibu
Cycle 2, chemo #2
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, August 21, 2009 Edit
Good morning everyone, I am here yet again sitting in my chair at 7:30am overlooking the Cornell Rd construction. Do you remember the child's story about a steam engine who worked hard all his life and plowed things up and then became obsolete because he was powered by steam? He ended up heating a school, I think.... Anyway, I'm watching a plow do some beautifully graceful maneuvers out my window. I'm not sure I've ever taken time to notice before. I am wearing my lovely wig this morning because I have to see a bunch of students this afternoon, but I still would prefer to rip it off my head, but I'm getting used to it. I was pouring through poems over the last few days, and I came back to one I really love that seems to be written about just the feeling of vulnerability tinged with--.hmm, perhaps hope, grace, something like that--that I feel very strongly these days. Here it is:
It is true the wind
blows terribly here--
but moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.
(Izumi Shikibu)
I think that is very beautiful!
Don't forget to skype me this morning if you think of it!
love to all
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, August 21, 2009 Edit
Good morning everyone, I am here yet again sitting in my chair at 7:30am overlooking the Cornell Rd construction. Do you remember the child's story about a steam engine who worked hard all his life and plowed things up and then became obsolete because he was powered by steam? He ended up heating a school, I think.... Anyway, I'm watching a plow do some beautifully graceful maneuvers out my window. I'm not sure I've ever taken time to notice before. I am wearing my lovely wig this morning because I have to see a bunch of students this afternoon, but I still would prefer to rip it off my head, but I'm getting used to it. I was pouring through poems over the last few days, and I came back to one I really love that seems to be written about just the feeling of vulnerability tinged with--.hmm, perhaps hope, grace, something like that--that I feel very strongly these days. Here it is:
It is true the wind
blows terribly here--
but moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.
(Izumi Shikibu)
I think that is very beautiful!
Don't forget to skype me this morning if you think of it!
love to all
A Blessing (james Wright)
Wednesday, new cycle #1
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Wednesday, August 12, 2009 Edit
Good morning, everyone. I arrived bright and early this morning at 7:30am, but I found that my doc had forgotten to write orders and is out of the office..... I think she's been found, but this is sounding like a long morning. But, I am all alone in my nice sunny room looking out on a beautiful day and reviewing personal statements from a bunch of medical students...fun. Ok, we have received orders and the first drug is being hung. My counts have returned to normal so I will get all the drugs today. Here's the wig update so far: most people just say how much they like my new cut--perfect. I really would prefer to go bald, so at this point, I am just wearing the wig to work and at home and nearby or walking, just a baseball cap. showering has never been so easy!
Hey, if anyone wants to talk during my sessions, just go to Skype.com and download it for free and then we can video-chat while I sit here. very fun and keeps me laughing. Try it, it is easy!
Finally, I love this poem, and I think of all of you as blessings:
A Blessing (James Wright)
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Wednesday, August 12, 2009 Edit
Good morning, everyone. I arrived bright and early this morning at 7:30am, but I found that my doc had forgotten to write orders and is out of the office..... I think she's been found, but this is sounding like a long morning. But, I am all alone in my nice sunny room looking out on a beautiful day and reviewing personal statements from a bunch of medical students...fun. Ok, we have received orders and the first drug is being hung. My counts have returned to normal so I will get all the drugs today. Here's the wig update so far: most people just say how much they like my new cut--perfect. I really would prefer to go bald, so at this point, I am just wearing the wig to work and at home and nearby or walking, just a baseball cap. showering has never been so easy!
Hey, if anyone wants to talk during my sessions, just go to Skype.com and download it for free and then we can video-chat while I sit here. very fun and keeps me laughing. Try it, it is easy!
Finally, I love this poem, and I think of all of you as blessings:
A Blessing (James Wright)
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
Rachel Remen
a new cycle
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Monday, August 10, 2009 Edit
All- Hope everyone's having a good week. I'm getting prepared to get back to my every week cycle again. I'm off to NY and CT on Thursday to attend a funeral so i am moving up my chemo to this Wednesday....yippee. I have felt sooo good over the last two weeks that I'm just a little unhappy about setting foot back in that cancer center, but I will. Don't forget to write on wednesday morning--gives me something to read and laugh and respond to! the wig is pretty good....don't wear it anywhere but at work so that students aren't really aware of what's up for now. that's good. talk to you on Wednesday and remember:
Perhaps the wisdom lies not in the constant struggle to bring the sacred into our daily life, but in the recognition that life is committed and whole and, despite appearances, we are always on sacred ground. (Rachel Naomi Remen)
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Monday, August 10, 2009 Edit
All- Hope everyone's having a good week. I'm getting prepared to get back to my every week cycle again. I'm off to NY and CT on Thursday to attend a funeral so i am moving up my chemo to this Wednesday....yippee. I have felt sooo good over the last two weeks that I'm just a little unhappy about setting foot back in that cancer center, but I will. Don't forget to write on wednesday morning--gives me something to read and laugh and respond to! the wig is pretty good....don't wear it anywhere but at work so that students aren't really aware of what's up for now. that's good. talk to you on Wednesday and remember:
Perhaps the wisdom lies not in the constant struggle to bring the sacred into our daily life, but in the recognition that life is committed and whole and, despite appearances, we are always on sacred ground. (Rachel Naomi Remen)
In Summer (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)
back in the saddle
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, August 7, 2009 Edit
All- had a wonderful few days in Canada with our friends the Pattersons. I really timed this perfectly as my hair was falling out, then we cut it short just before we left, and finally on the island, it all fell off and I was a happy bowling ball up in the middle of nowhere. I didn't have to face reality at all for 5 days--perfect and really needed. Today, I wore my wig to work and, although I was terribly self conscious, I found that people didn't really know. Again, this was just perfect. I have added a few pictures of Canada. This is the most beautiful place I know where we have to cook together, play together, read together, etc as there is no electricity or easy access to things.Another perfect feature!
I have been remiss in my poetry finding, so try this lovely summer piece:
In Summer (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)
Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue,
And a belt where the rivers run.
And now for the kiss of the wind,
And the touch of the air's soft hands,
With the rest from strife and the heat of life,
With the freedom of lakes and lands.
I envy the farmer's boy
Who sings as he follows the plow;
While the shining green of the young blades lean
To the breezes that cool his brow.
He sings to the dewy morn,
No thought of another's ear;
But the song he sings is a chant for kings
And the whole wide world to hear.
He sings of the joys of life,
Of the pleasures of work and rest,
From an o'erfull heart, without aim or art;
'T is a song of the merriest.
O ye who toil in the town,
And ye who moil in the mart,
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong
Shall renew your joy of heart.
Oh, poor were the worth of the world
If never a song were heard,—
If the sting of grief had no relief,
And never a heart were stirred.
So, long as the streams run down,
And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
And sing in the face of ill.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, August 7, 2009 Edit
All- had a wonderful few days in Canada with our friends the Pattersons. I really timed this perfectly as my hair was falling out, then we cut it short just before we left, and finally on the island, it all fell off and I was a happy bowling ball up in the middle of nowhere. I didn't have to face reality at all for 5 days--perfect and really needed. Today, I wore my wig to work and, although I was terribly self conscious, I found that people didn't really know. Again, this was just perfect. I have added a few pictures of Canada. This is the most beautiful place I know where we have to cook together, play together, read together, etc as there is no electricity or easy access to things.Another perfect feature!
I have been remiss in my poetry finding, so try this lovely summer piece:
In Summer (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)
Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue,
And a belt where the rivers run.
And now for the kiss of the wind,
And the touch of the air's soft hands,
With the rest from strife and the heat of life,
With the freedom of lakes and lands.
I envy the farmer's boy
Who sings as he follows the plow;
While the shining green of the young blades lean
To the breezes that cool his brow.
He sings to the dewy morn,
No thought of another's ear;
But the song he sings is a chant for kings
And the whole wide world to hear.
He sings of the joys of life,
Of the pleasures of work and rest,
From an o'erfull heart, without aim or art;
'T is a song of the merriest.
O ye who toil in the town,
And ye who moil in the mart,
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong
Shall renew your joy of heart.
Oh, poor were the worth of the world
If never a song were heard,—
If the sting of grief had no relief,
And never a heart were stirred.
So, long as the streams run down,
And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
And sing in the face of ill.
The Morning After
the morning after
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, July 31, 2009 Edit
Greetings all!
All is well here except the hair. Hope i make it to the sheering this afternoon! Katie and mom came with me to have the final touches put on the wig--Katie will take over the wig washing and styling duties (thank heavens!!).
Feeling good and we're off to Canada tomorrow and out of email and internet range.
have a lovely 5 days and I'll take some pics of the hair losing, wig, etc
love to all!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Friday, July 31, 2009 Edit
Greetings all!
All is well here except the hair. Hope i make it to the sheering this afternoon! Katie and mom came with me to have the final touches put on the wig--Katie will take over the wig washing and styling duties (thank heavens!!).
Feeling good and we're off to Canada tomorrow and out of email and internet range.
have a lovely 5 days and I'll take some pics of the hair losing, wig, etc
love to all!
Hardware Sparrows (TR Smith)
Chemo #3
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Thursday, July 30, 2009 Edit
Lovely morning this morning. I'm sitting up on the 6th floor in the cancer center and the sun is pouring into my window and all is quiet here at 7:30am......quite lovely, really. More hair falling out and I think I won't have much by the weekend......I don't like this part much no matter how much I try to. I may not be getting both drugs today as my counts are a bit low, so we're waiting to hear back from the oncologist. For the moment, all is quiet and I am sitting here composing and prowling around for a poem. I think we can all use some hardware sparrows:
Hardware Sparrows (TR Smith)
Out for a deadbolt, light bulbs
and two-by-fours, I find a flock
of sparrows safe from hawks
and weather under the roof
of Lowe's amazing discount
store. They skitter from the racks
of stockpiled posts and hoses
to a spill of winter birdseed
on the concrete floor. How
they know to forage here,
I can't guess, but the automatic
door is close enough,
and we've had a week
of storms. They are, after all,
ubiquitous, though poor,
their only song an irritating
noise, and yet they soar
to offer, amid hardware, rope
and handyman brochures,
some relief, as if a flurry
of notes from Mozart swirled
from seed to ceiling, entreating
us to set aside our evening
chores and take grace where
we find it, saying it is possible,
even in this month of flood,
blackout and frustration,
to float once more on sheer
survival and the shadowy
bliss we exist to explore.
Lovely, really. Hope you like it. I am getting just one of my drugs and letting my counts recover before I get the other one again.
Feeling well and taking the final picture of my hair!
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Thursday, July 30, 2009 Edit
Lovely morning this morning. I'm sitting up on the 6th floor in the cancer center and the sun is pouring into my window and all is quiet here at 7:30am......quite lovely, really. More hair falling out and I think I won't have much by the weekend......I don't like this part much no matter how much I try to. I may not be getting both drugs today as my counts are a bit low, so we're waiting to hear back from the oncologist. For the moment, all is quiet and I am sitting here composing and prowling around for a poem. I think we can all use some hardware sparrows:
Hardware Sparrows (TR Smith)
Out for a deadbolt, light bulbs
and two-by-fours, I find a flock
of sparrows safe from hawks
and weather under the roof
of Lowe's amazing discount
store. They skitter from the racks
of stockpiled posts and hoses
to a spill of winter birdseed
on the concrete floor. How
they know to forage here,
I can't guess, but the automatic
door is close enough,
and we've had a week
of storms. They are, after all,
ubiquitous, though poor,
their only song an irritating
noise, and yet they soar
to offer, amid hardware, rope
and handyman brochures,
some relief, as if a flurry
of notes from Mozart swirled
from seed to ceiling, entreating
us to set aside our evening
chores and take grace where
we find it, saying it is possible,
even in this month of flood,
blackout and frustration,
to float once more on sheer
survival and the shadowy
bliss we exist to explore.
Lovely, really. Hope you like it. I am getting just one of my drugs and letting my counts recover before I get the other one again.
Feeling well and taking the final picture of my hair!
You Know Who You Are (Naomi Shihab Nye)
anticipating
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Wednesday, July 29, 2009 Edit
ok, so my hair is loosening! I had forgotten this weirdness, but I'm beginning to remember. My hair feels very strange and as of this morning, I am losing bits of it here and there......a little disconcerting, but at least we know the medicine is doing something! I am planning on another easy chemo session #3 tomorrow so send lots of emails in the morning to keep me busy. I have been seeing a woman at a salon who is going to make a wig for me....do you think perhaps black hair this time? Green? think of my options! She is sure that it will look just like my hair.....we'll see. I am going on friday to have my hair cut very short an then we are going to Canada for a week. All the hair loss should be finished by then and the wig will too.
I love this poem and I take comfort in it:
You Know Who You Are (Naomi Shihab Nye)
Why do your poems comfort me, I ask myself?
Because they are upright, like straight-backed chairs,
I can sit in them and study the world as if it too
were simple and straight.
Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words
and not one of them can save me.
Your poems come in like a raft, logs tied together,
they float.
I want to tell you about the afternoon
I floated on your poems
all the way from Durango Street to Broadway.
Fathers were paddling on the river with their small sons.
Three Mexican boys chased each other outside the library.
Everyone seemed to have some task, some occupation,
while I wandered uselessly in the streets I claim to love.
Suddenly I felt the precise body of your poems beneath me,
like a raft, I felt words as something portable again,
a cup, a newspaper, a pin.
Everything happening had a light around it,
not the light of Catholic miracles,
the blunt light of a Saturday afternoon.
Light in a world that rushes forward with us or without us.
I wanted to stop and gather up the blocks behind me
in this light, but it doesn't work.
You keep walking, lifting one foot, then the other,
saying "this is what I need to remember"
and then hoping you can.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Wednesday, July 29, 2009 Edit
ok, so my hair is loosening! I had forgotten this weirdness, but I'm beginning to remember. My hair feels very strange and as of this morning, I am losing bits of it here and there......a little disconcerting, but at least we know the medicine is doing something! I am planning on another easy chemo session #3 tomorrow so send lots of emails in the morning to keep me busy. I have been seeing a woman at a salon who is going to make a wig for me....do you think perhaps black hair this time? Green? think of my options! She is sure that it will look just like my hair.....we'll see. I am going on friday to have my hair cut very short an then we are going to Canada for a week. All the hair loss should be finished by then and the wig will too.
I love this poem and I take comfort in it:
You Know Who You Are (Naomi Shihab Nye)
Why do your poems comfort me, I ask myself?
Because they are upright, like straight-backed chairs,
I can sit in them and study the world as if it too
were simple and straight.
Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words
and not one of them can save me.
Your poems come in like a raft, logs tied together,
they float.
I want to tell you about the afternoon
I floated on your poems
all the way from Durango Street to Broadway.
Fathers were paddling on the river with their small sons.
Three Mexican boys chased each other outside the library.
Everyone seemed to have some task, some occupation,
while I wandered uselessly in the streets I claim to love.
Suddenly I felt the precise body of your poems beneath me,
like a raft, I felt words as something portable again,
a cup, a newspaper, a pin.
Everything happening had a light around it,
not the light of Catholic miracles,
the blunt light of a Saturday afternoon.
Light in a world that rushes forward with us or without us.
I wanted to stop and gather up the blocks behind me
in this light, but it doesn't work.
You keep walking, lifting one foot, then the other,
saying "this is what I need to remember"
and then hoping you can.
Saturday Rocks
Saturday rocks
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Saturday, July 25, 2009 Edit
I am back from taking my sister, Brent , to the airport. I'm sorry to see her go, but I loved having her here. I have been musing over my wonderful rocks and notes and memories of our stone gathering. THe more I think about it, the more I am struck my its significance and beauty for me. Once again, I am awed by the love of such friends.
My friend Betsy has it right with this quote:
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone;
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.
Adam Lindsay Gordon
Lovely, no?
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Saturday, July 25, 2009 Edit
I am back from taking my sister, Brent , to the airport. I'm sorry to see her go, but I loved having her here. I have been musing over my wonderful rocks and notes and memories of our stone gathering. THe more I think about it, the more I am struck my its significance and beauty for me. Once again, I am awed by the love of such friends.
My friend Betsy has it right with this quote:
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone;
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.
Adam Lindsay Gordon
Lovely, no?
Soundings (Joyce Sutphen)
chemo #2
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Thursday, July 23, 2009 Edit
Brent and I are here watching the pearlescent medication drip into my veins as I hold myvery special rock basket. All's well so far, and I received this wonderful poem this morning. We are going to try to take a picture, and the first one will be holding jayne and Chris's lovely snow-marble.
Soundings
by Joyce Sutphen
In the afternoon of summer, sounds
come through the window: a tractor
muttering to itself as it
pivots at the corner of the
hay field, stalled for a moment
as the green row feeds into the baler.
The wind slips a whisper behind
an ear; the noise of the highway
is like the dark green stem of a rose.
From the kitchen the blunt banging
of cupboard doors and wooden chairs
makes a lonely echo in the floor.
Somewhere, between the breeze
and the faraway sound of a train,
comes a line of birdsong, lightly
threading the heavy cloth of dream.
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Thursday, July 23, 2009 Edit
Brent and I are here watching the pearlescent medication drip into my veins as I hold myvery special rock basket. All's well so far, and I received this wonderful poem this morning. We are going to try to take a picture, and the first one will be holding jayne and Chris's lovely snow-marble.
Soundings
by Joyce Sutphen
In the afternoon of summer, sounds
come through the window: a tractor
muttering to itself as it
pivots at the corner of the
hay field, stalled for a moment
as the green row feeds into the baler.
The wind slips a whisper behind
an ear; the noise of the highway
is like the dark green stem of a rose.
From the kitchen the blunt banging
of cupboard doors and wooden chairs
makes a lonely echo in the floor.
Somewhere, between the breeze
and the faraway sound of a train,
comes a line of birdsong, lightly
threading the heavy cloth of dream.
A Note (Wislawa Szymbarska)
Wednesday in anticipation
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Wednesday, July 22, 2009 Edit
Almost at the one week mark and still feel my hair firmly attached to my skull! My sister is coming in late tonight and she will be there with me tomorrow and then we are running off to take Will to Denison for a visit with the lacrosse coach. For today, a little Wislawa Szymbarska:
A Note
Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;
to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;
to tell pain
from everything it's not;
to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.
An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp switched off;
and if only once
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,
mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing
something important.
~ Wislawa Szymborska
posted by Lissa mcKinley on Wednesday, July 22, 2009 Edit
Almost at the one week mark and still feel my hair firmly attached to my skull! My sister is coming in late tonight and she will be there with me tomorrow and then we are running off to take Will to Denison for a visit with the lacrosse coach. For today, a little Wislawa Szymbarska:
A Note
Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;
to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;
to tell pain
from everything it's not;
to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.
An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp switched off;
and if only once
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,
mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing
something important.
~ Wislawa Szymborska
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