Evil woman, the Silence of the Lambs, The Blessing (James Wright), The Summer Day (Mary Oliver)

So I don't really want to write this, but because I started this blog to keep friends and family up to date on my condition without having to call or search for information, I need to spill.
I began to notice that I was having more trouble than others raising and keeping my arms over my head or held straight out from my body more than 6 months ago. Kind of made me crazy, as I thought it was all do to my bum R shoulder and deconditioning. Then I started to have discomfort in my neck, R shoulder and finally, I began to be able to trace my L 3rd cervical dermatome clearly--first with tingling, then with burning. Having the tip of your ear burning is an odd feeling, trust me. I went in for these L sided symptoms initially. Got set up for MRI on cervical spine and my usual every 6 months PET scan a few weeks early.

If you haven't had a MRI, especially an MRI on your head, you are really missing something. THere is nothing to be done to quiet those magnets that have to spin around fast and bang into each other, but the techs try. i got my head phones on and was strapped in and ready to go. The table moves into the machine, and the sounds rev up and begin to start their steady BANG BANG BANGING. Now this is all do-able, and I had been duly warned and given headphones, but I was not prepared for the loud music that began about half way through the scan. How would your already strained brain interpret this: The first song piped in at a significant pitch was "Evil Woman". Remember the refrain? "Eeeevil Wooooman BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Have I done something bad? Did I eat another cholesterol-rich hamburger? Have I not learned enough? Am I not doing enough good? WHAT? WHAT IS IT? Ok, my psyche is a bit overworked lately. Then I started to laugh. I mean really , what else is there to do? I was told to keep still. I am bad.

Ok, then there is that thing called interpretation. I am a master, truly a master, at ignoring the fact that once the scans are done, someone sometime will call you and want to talk about the results. I have had a billion scans. Only once has anyone ever told me something good; therefore you can understand my denial. In fact, I think it wouldn't be out of the scope of things to get in a car and Thelma my way to the deep south. But I don't; I try to be a good patient.
Oh, I forgot something. I have been noticing a small R cervical lymph node for a long time. As I changed therapies last time, we watched this hoping the treatment would affect it. Well, it didn't really and it got bigger and began to recruit friends. So, I was scheduled for a lymph node bx. I saw the lovely breast surgeon who has helped me when I was originally diagnosed now 17 years ago, who is calm, kind, and competent (that's a nice combo). He looked at the node and thought it could be biopsied under ultrasound by the radiologists, so I was sent around the corner to have this done (there is NOTHING like a comprehensive cancer center that puts all these services together and coordinates care very effectively). Now remember that my hubby is a radiologist, and there is no anonymity here, but usually that is not a bad thing. In walks a radiologist I know well (who, by the way was extremely professional and as the techs put it, wears iron undies), thought this could be done and proceeded to do it, all the while talking to me as another lovely person held my hand. I'm all for hand holding...even if I felt absolutely no pain at all. Amazing.

So we all knew the answer. Lymph node was just cancer cells, MRI had found a soft tissue mass adjacent to cervical vertebrae on the R side C5-7. that's when I began to recognize that my R sided symptoms made a bit more sense. Rest of the bones look about the same, maybe a little worsening in some, but no other soft tissue anything, and that is good.

The next step was a visit with the radiation oncologist with the oncologist (another shout out to the comprehensive breast cancer program that allows this to happen). these two were talking about fancy-dancy radiation therapies that could somehow avoid vertebral artery (that is a bit compressed) but get close to it to get rid of tumor, avoid esophagus and nerve roots, but snug up tight to the mass and ABLATE it. These computer simulations are so complicated, they take a few weeks to perfect....wow. In the meantime, it was time for Hannibal Lector to make an appearance. I went in last week to get a "cage" or was it a "mask" made. As you can imagine (if you really think about it), if you run a simulation for two weeks and have it all perfect in its complexity, you certainly don't want patient X squirming on the table. Nope, one must be strapped in and held down. Here comes Tony Hopkins with his fava beans on the desk and a fine chianti in one hand. "Time for the mask, Lissa, just lie down on this table and we are going to put this warm, wet plastic netting over your face and shoulders and PULL IT DOWN TIGHT AND STRETCH IT OVER YOUR FACE AND SCREW TO THE BACKBOARD WHILE IT HARDENS." Great. Kind of creepy, but the two techs were funny and very, very in tune with the weirdness of what they were doing. Even when I brought up the Silence of the Lambs reference, they laughed and slowed down and talked me through it. there are no eye or nose or mouth holes in the thing, but it is mesh. you can breath and see a little, but it is WEIRD. I must paint the thing or better yet, have my wonderful group of writer/artist friends do a number on it as soon as I can get my hands on it.
So now we wait. I will have 5 radiation treatments with my lovely mask, and then I will have a new chemotherapy regimen. I'm not happy about whole thing, but I have done it before. If things get worse, we change our therapy. if things get better, we hold the course. I have been doing this for 8 years, and I remember every day that I have lived and lived and lived with metastatic cancer as a chronic disease. I hope to do it for awhile longer. My perspective on most things from here is never boring, that's for sure. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel as if I were shaken awake 8 years ago; I see more clearly and appreciate much more. I stand around and gawk at plants and trees, the colors and bounty of the farmer's market knock my socks off, and I want to hug everyone I see...which can be a problem. With this heightened sensing, I find all kindnesses bestowed on me at the cancer center affect me deeply. Like that bloody woman who held my hand during the lymph node biopsy. I definitely want to hug her. Oh, and the nurse who checks me in all too often now who just comes out and hugs me. I want to jump into her lap and never leave. I want to make other vulnerable, sick people feel like this. IT MATTERS SO MUCH.

But, but, but it is not all roses, that's for sure. This is hard and sad too. My wonderful family and I are trying mightily to keep this tippy boat (which is our life together) upright during these very turbulent seas of new empty nesting and worsening of disease. We need each other wildly, but we often can't find each other as we strap in for another enormous wave. Truly, we are so lucky that both kids are loved and secure and happy in what they are doing. Should the worst happen to either of their iffy parents, they have all the tools to grieve appropriately and then move on. They are loving and good and brave and strong. They will be fine and I'm very proud of that. Let's stop there. It is a beautiful fall day,and I need to take a walk with my silly little rescue puppy Bella, and to appreciate the beauty around me,and to laugh out loud at Bella's need to swim without any need to fetch.

How about a little transformative poetry. I'm going back to two old faithfuls. See what you think.

The Blessing (James Wright)
Just off the highway in 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 wildly 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.


The Summer Day (Mary Oliver)
Who made the world?
Who made the swan and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
The one who has flung herself out of the grass,
The one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
Who is moving her jaws back and forth, not up and down-
Who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
How to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I've been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
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Fogelberg and fireflies

I awoke this morning with a refrain from a Dan Fogelberg song zinging around in my brain. First of all, I don't love Dan Fogelberg. At all. Yuck. Second of all, I was with two serious Dan fans last night, and they had to break out the iTunes and we had to hear snippets of all of those songs. They did teach me that this music was better appreciated when in an altered state, but if I ever wake to that high pitched, bleating voice singing, "love when you can, cry when you have to, be who you are, it's a part of the plan ..." again, I will have to hit something. But, it was a beautiful summer night last night, and I really wanted to talk a bit about this spectacular summer.

Truly , I can't remember a better summer. The weather was sunny, warm, and dry. The tomatoes took over the garden for the very first time, and i just harvested the motherload of all tomatoes:



I even made baba ganouj with our eggplants and dipped our beautiful red and green peppers into the yummy dip. Anyway, both kids were home,employed, and fun to be with.....WOW. And we took a week vacation together in Massachusetts, rediscovering my parents' old place in Duxbury, and it was a perfect week of weather, friends, beach, boats, fish, walks, etc, etc ,etc for all of us.



Finally, we said goodbye to our baby as she stepped over that threshold and became a college freshman at Lehigh University. As you can imagine, I've been thinking a lot about KT (our daughter, Katie). Ok, KT here goes. Readers, please bear with me for a few sentences. KT has some personality traits that have been present since the womb--humor, intelligence, stubbornness, etc. The one I want to talk about is her sense of humor.

She emerged into this world a huge, 10 pound + baby with a shock of black hair standing straight up--we laughed. You looked nothing like the baby that preceded you for awhile. We lived in a tiny house in Chapel Hill, NC for the first 4 years of your life, and you slept on the couch, as our older son slept in the crib still. I remember propping you up into the corner of the couch before you could sit well, and as I went about the morning, you would slowly tip over. Instead of crying, you would begin to laugh, as if the world looked even more entertaining from this new vantage point. This scene replayed itself over and over. It was, as my mother would say, killing. I laughed until I cried and had to change my pants. You laughed more when you saw me laughing.


You sat in my mother's lap and laughed. you sat on the visiting dog and laughed, you pulled your brother's hair and laughed.


We put the two of you in the bathtub, and your incredibly sweet, loving brother who never once was jealous of your hair, would hold you and splash you and the two of you would dissolve into fits of giggles. you always laughed at Will's batman outfit--or just at him, I'm still not sure. We did too:



This easy laughter developed into a sharp wit that got you out of many scrapes and head-butting-teenager behavior with your mother. And it made you such a pleasure to be with. Watching you get ready to leave us and get to your first meeting with your hall advisor (Griffon), was something I'll never forget. You had been so open with all your feelings with us--fear, excitement, sadness, all of it--yet you were funny and brave (with thanks to that big brother again). You embraced us, we shed a few tears, and you turned away with wet eyes that so clearly said, "I'm ready, I love you, I am secure, I can do this, I can't wait to do this, I'm so excited, here I go!" How to be sad about that?

FROM:




TO:




Make 'em laugh, KT, and wow them with all your remarkable gifts.

How about some poetry? I think I'll leave it at just this one. I think it is gorgeous.

Interval (By Jeffrey Harrison)

Sometimes, out of nowhere, it comes back,
that night when, driving home from the city,
having left the nearest streetlight miles behind us,

we lost our way on the back country roads
and found, when we slowed down to read a road sign,
a field alive with the blinking of fireflies,

and we got out and stood there in the darkness,
amazed at their numbers, their scattered sparks
igniting silently in a randomness

that somehow added up to a marvel
both earthly and celestial, the sky
brought down to earth, and brought to life,

a sublunar starscape whose shifting constellations
were a small gift of unexpected astonishment,
luminous signalings leading us away

from thoughts of where we were going
or coming from, the cares that often drive us
relentlessly onward and blind us

to such flickering intervals when moments
are released from their rigid sequence
and burn like airborne embers, floating free.

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The Coming of Light, What We Need is Here, and Surviving Has Made me Crazy

I've had so much to write and think about lately, I'm not sure where to start. We've had our 25th anniversary trip to Paris, we've welcomed our long-haired son back for the summer and watched as he transformed himself into a young business intern, we are getting ready for KT's graduation from high school and thinking about our lives post kids, and finally I've made a significant change in my work life, and all of this is exciting and weighty and full of what matters, but not always easy.

Thankfully, my wonderful journaling/writing class is under weigh, and as usual, the writing prompts always seem to get to the heart of what I'm struggling with.  Let's take the job thing.  I have needed a change for a long time.  Truthfully, I am trying to admit to myself that I have been living with advanced disease for 7 years now, and I've been very lucky, but I really want some time.  Time, that is, to smell all the roadside flowers, to watch every lacrosse game, to play with my sister more, to tinker in my lovely garden, to reconnect with old friends and treasure current ones, to write and write, and to read and read and read.  I am not giving up, and I am not going to sit and stew about my fate.  I am going to live.  This is not sinking into the dark, but maximizing the light, I think.  I am going to hold on to what really matters, and I'm going to learn new things. I am going to read every good book, I am going to uncover the intricacies of the fine camembert cheese that I fell in love with in France, I am going to be a bee keeper's apprentice, I am going to touch the red clay at the French Open, and I'm going to hit a tennis ball again.  I will organize our crazy household and cook....a lot.  Ah, this feels so good to say, it must be right.

We had a wonderful time in Paris and on our river cruise up the Seine.  I now have a model garden to work from as I work on my own, Giverny.  This was so beautiful; even with lots of people around.  Why didn't I know that Paris is so wonderful?  Chip and I have agreed to go back and spend more time eating and walking and drinking....heaven.  We also really loved the river cruising, even though we were much younger than most of the people on the boat.  We really loved the pace, especially for my lovely workaholic hubby.  We slowed down and enjoyed the ride as we passed medieval towns and crumbling castles.  On to the Danube next, perhaps!

And then there's Katie.  What is better than being 17, going to prom, graduating from high school, being in college, having a summer job and a first love?  what, really?  Although she is very good at teaching us how to let go, she is also quite wonderful and maturing and hysterical.  We will miss her a great deal, but  she is well prepared and very ready.  Hopefully, she will be as happy in college as her brother (and we are sure she will be)!  I think the greater difficulty is determining how are lives will go without any kids around.  While we have been sweating this a bit, after the fun we had in Paris, I think we will find each other again, and that feels really good.

how about a poem or two:

What We Need is Here (Wendell Berry)

Geese appear high over us

Pass, and the sky closes.  Abandon,

As in love or sleep, holds

Them to their way, clear

In the ancient faith: what we need

Is here.  And we pray, not

For new earth or heaven, but to be

Quiet in heart, and in eye,

Clear.  What we need is here.

the Coming of light (Mark Strand)

Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light. 
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves, 
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows, 
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine 
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.

 Surviving
Has Made Me Crazy (Mark Nepo)

I
eat flowers now and birds follow me.
I
open myself like an inlet
And
dolphin energies
Swim
on through.
Wherever
I go, I remain silent
And
the silence begins to glow
Till
one eye in the light
Outsees
two in the dark.
When
asked, I now hesitate
For
there are so many ways
To
love the earth.
I
water things now constantly:
Water
the hearts of dead friends with light,
the
scores of the living with anything warm,
water
the skies with a thousand affections
and
follow the voices of animals
into
grasses that move like ocean.
I
eat flowers now and birds come.
I
eat care and things to love arrive.
I
eat time and as I age
Whatever
I swallow grows timeless.
I
eat and undie
And
water my doubts
With
silence and birds come.

In gay Paris!

Paris day #2
Well, we made it. We arrived several hours late into Paris, found our Viking representative, and found our way to our river boat at about 11am yesterday after little sleep, but many movies. The adorable, new Wharton Business School graduate sitting next to me and i played french language games against each other for several hours -- he usually creamed me. Then he convinced me to watch "Drive" , suggesting that the violence was minimal. Seriously, never trust a 20-something. I'm still sick to my stomach,but I made it all the way through. All I really wanted to watch was "Lady and the Tramp", but I was too embarrassed. How dumb can you be?

So, we couldn't get into our cabin until 3pm, so we took a taxi to Sacre Couer in the Montmarte area, and we spent a wonderful, jet lagged Parisian afternoon watching painters, ogling the church on the hill, sitting in the sun drinking wine, and walking, walking, walking. wonderful.



We walked down to the Louvre and were completely mesmerized by the architecture, the number of people around, and just being there...so cool! Here's an artistic rending With the infamous I.M. Pei's pyramid:




We got back to the boat to find our luggage in the last remaining cabin available. Let's just say that it is a bit...tight. It is also at water level. One must just laugh and reframe these things !



Today we awoke to a great breakfast and then a tour of Paris. We are docked quite lose to the Eiffel Tower, so we got some great pics here, the a trip down the Champs Élysées, the new Prime Minister's mansion, the Louvre and place du Concorde, and finally Notre Dame. Here we got out and because it was a holy day here, we entered the cathedral during a mass.





Then we met up with Katie at the Musee D'Orsay, and spent several hours here. The Orsay has an amazing Impressionist collection, and the museum gas began to get us after about 2 hours, but this is a place to come back to for sure. Then we had lunch in a wonderful cafe then a long walk in the sun through the Luxembourg Gardens.






Now we are finally under-weigh on our river boat from Paris to Vernon with the 70 and older crowd listening to "Besame mucho" in the Viking lounge, and I'm not kidding. Ok, we may be a few decades young for this trip, but so far it has been kind of wonderful. Actually, this is the antithesis of our Spring break in the Dominican Republic at the Hard Rock resort with a thousand drunk teenagers and 24-hour piped in rock music . Now we are listening to a slow Donna Summers tribute by a non- English speaking singer....hmm. Clearly, we are still trying to find some vacation middle ground, but we haven't been completely successful so far, to say the least.

But, but, but, we are sitting in this lounge at 11pm having seen the sun go down over the Seine and feeling pretty darn happy about this full day. Watching the miles slip by on the boat is quire lovely too. Tomorrow we will arrive in Vernon at 5am, and see the Giverny Gardens that we saw so clearly in the museum today....how fabulous is that? Ok, we heard a lot of illness stories at dinner, but the chateaubriand helped!
Back tomorrow!
Love to all




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Home and back again

This past weekend , I felt so lucky, and so full, that I could even put the sinking feeling of Tuesday's scan out of my mind. What could it matter after all of this? Well, of course it matters, but this weekend mattered more. I flew up to Hartford, CT where my sister picked me up, and we drove 45 minutes to East Hampton, MA to Sarah and Freddy Melcher's. Sarah is Chip's sister, and she and her hubby and kids pampered and fed and entertained us, and we didn't even have to pay! We hadn't seen the Melchers in too long, and we had a wonderful dinner, watched some SportsCenter with Luke, their 6th grader, and went happily off to bed in a beautiful old sleigh bed.

In the morning, it now being Saturday, we ate the spread laid out for us and packed up to drive about 3.5hours to Middlebury, Vt to see Will (my son) play lacrosse against the Midd panthers (my old team). As usual, Brent and I laugh at the same things, are appalled by the same politics, and just generally read each other's mind. So, after sharing info about our kids, we settled down to compare new sci fi and fantasy novels we are reading and to start listening to another fabulous Dresden-like book called "Hounded". There is no one else with whom I feel quite so free to share my desire to become a Firefly crew member, taste some spice, or experience a thread fall from dragon back. Ok, can't help it, and what is wrong with all of you naysayers, anyway? Try a new world on for size once in awhile, really.

So, it started snowing at about Okemo, but when we drove into the town of Middlebury, the sun came out over the mountains and it was glorious (even though it was 30 degrees and they had to plow the snow off the turf). We walked around the lovely town, missed the chili at the chili festival (as I did the previous year), and watched Will's team succumb to a strong Midd team (as I did last year). But we got to see him at the crazy parents' tailgate party afterwards, and while I'm not so sure about the facial hair, he is a sweetheart, and it is a pleasure to be with him and to meet his friends and their parents. Then, we turned around and drove back to Easthampton.
When we arrived, the Melchers had made another incredible dinner spread, and we laughed and drank and ate ourselves silly. As Sunday rolled around, we lounged in the sun having coffee, it now being about 55 degrees, and then we were off to met our old friends, the Pattersons, for brunch before Will's team took on the Amherst Lord Jeffs (really?). This time, the Bates Bobcats were playing well, and stayed with the best team in the NESCAC losing 9-11 -- a very respectable game this time. Brent and I had to leave at half time for me to catch my plane back home at 6pm, but the weekend was a grand success. Here's Will with his cousins





You know, there is nothing more wonderful than being with friends and family who all know and love this boy and hope for his success. I felt a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. There we all were in the stands, though we hail from many parts of the country and have different school allegiances, cheering and hollering and hoping that Will and his team played well (even those friends from Amherst!). I think I'm becoming a sentimental old fool, but the whole thing made me weepy. I feel so lucky for all of it--for health enough to travel and run around cheering like an idiot, for a sister who makes my heart happy, for inlaws who have become best friends, for "outlaws" whom I love and who I know have my back as I have theirs, and for a wonderful, happy, beautiful kid who makes my soul sing. Yeah, what a fool am I, but what a great way to go.

How about some Spring poetry:

Revival (Luci Shaw)
March. I am beginning
to anticipate a thaw. Early mornings 
the earth, old unbeliever, is still crusted with frost
where the moles have nosed up their
cold castings, and the ground cover
in shadow under the cedars hasn't softened
for months, fogs layering their slow, complicated ice
around foliage and stem
night by night,

but as the light lengthens, preacher
of good news, evangelizing leaves and branches,
his large gestures beckon green
out of gray. Pinpricks of coral bursting
from the cotoneasters. A single bee
finding the white heather. Eager lemon-yellow
aconites glowing, low to the ground like
little uplifted faces. A crocus shooting up
a purple hand here, there, as I stand
on my doorstep, my own face drinking in heat
and light like a bud welcoming resurrection,
and my hand up, too, ready to sign on
for conversion.

Looking at the Sky (Anne Porter)
I never will have time
I never will have time enough
To say
How beautiful it is
The way the moon
Floats in the air
As easily
And lightly as a bird
Although she is a world
Made all of stone.

I never will have time enough
To praise
The way the stars
Hang glittering in the dark
Of steepest heaven
Their dewy sparks
Their brimming drops of light
So fresh so clear
That when you look at them
It quenches thirst.

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Doing it right in Chicago and Lines for Winter (Mark Strand), Picnic, Lightning (Billy Collins), and Storm Windows (Howard Nemerov)

I have just returned from a short 3-day stay in Chicago with my friend, college room-mate, and the funniest person I know. Make that the sharpest person I know; she has a pithy rebuttal ready to launch before you have even thought of making a comment. She is unique and wonderful, and she invited me to share her obsession, the Blackhawks. Well actually, I think it is an obsession with Marian Hossa mostly. Truly, even when struck with food poisoning, as she was when I arrived, she still made me laugh, and then she made me go to the Blackhawks game with a friend of hers. This friend is a healthcare lobbyist in Chicago, and we had a lot to talk about. She seemed equally obsessed, as did all the wacky fans there that night. Betsy had prepared me already by sending me a Patty Kane jersey for my 50th birthday. I have been warding off my drooling son from taking my jersey away to college for the last year, but I prevailed. So, be-jerseyed, off we went to the game. I like hockey; my kid played for years. I know most of the rules, but this woman was yelling out the players ages, the year they were traded (and if they missed a pass, how likely they were to be traded back), their political leanings, and the names of the players' siblings....I have never seen anything like it. Not only that, she did it while drinking lustily with the surrounding crowd. Quite impressive, really. The older woman next to me was videotaping most plays of the game on her camera...through the glass. No kidding. I finally asked her if her son was a player, and she just looked at me and said, "I always tape the games. I go home and watch then again." "No kidding", I said. We didn't have much to talk about after that. Anyway, my assessment was that the Hawks were exhausted and let the Predators walk all over them. And they tried that empty net thing. Never works, if you ask me. Final score: Hawks 1/Predators 3.

Day 2: Betsy is much perkier today and I play with the guinea pigs and have a love bird perched on my finger with her youngest child, Lauren. then the kids are off to school and Betsy and I plan the day. we have to have breakfast at a wonderful cafe that we walk to, and we have to get me to the Block Center (Integrative Oncology center that I sometimes double check my progress/tests/scans/treatment with ). I have to be there at 2 and we are going to the Chicago Lyric Opera's production of Aida (and sitting in fabulous first row mezzanine seats) at 7:30pm. How about that? One impossible love affair to another! We make it to the Block Center right on time, and although recent scans are a bit hard to wade through--is this better, worse, what? I am a bit of an enigma as I have lived a long time and the scans get more and more complicated. A little more brightness in the right shoulder, a little more spine sclerosis (healing?), perhaps a bit worse overall......unclear. So, as usual, they agreed with my course and my wonderful oncologist and they were happy with my progress. Maybe that should have made me uncomfortable as I hadn't seen him in two years, and he sounded like he was expecting worse, but whatever. He also suggested that there are still several drugs, etc that can be used; I haven't used them up yet. that's encouraging too...I think. Anyway, they drew what looked like a liter of blood and sent us on our way to change into our glad rags.

One of the most wonderful things about being with Betsy and her family is being in Chicago-- the city is so accessible, yet they live in a lovely little suburb. We walked to the train station with many other opera goers and in 20 minutes, we were walking across the river to the Chicago Civic Opera House. This is a gorgeous building a bit like Severance Hall. We got to our box early and pilfered the front seats. Betsy pulled out her great grandmother's opera glasses and we were ready. Aida is a big production, but we didn't have any elephants. What we did have was a soprano to die for. THe tenor, Ramades, was pretty fantastic too, but not quite Aida. the music (Giuseppe Verde) was wonderful. We sat in front of twin ladies who were enjoying the show and succumbed to Betsy's pleas to take our picture....over and over again. We had a marvelous time and didn't we look stunning too. Back to the train and home in 20.









What a wonderful 2 1/2 days; what a pleasure to see my dear friend so happy and her family thriving. What a fantastic idea to keep finding adventures near and far.
How about some poetry from three different Poets Laureate that I really like.

Lines for Winter (Mark Strand)
                                  -for Ros Krauss
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself--
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going.  And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

Picnic, Lightning (Billy Collins)
                              My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning)
                              when I was three.  --Lolita

It is possible to be struck by a meteor
or a single-engine plane
while reading in a chair at home.
Safes drop from rooftops
and flatten the odd pedestrian
mostly within the panels of the comics,
but still, we know it is possible,
as well as the flash of summer lightning,
the thermos toppling over,
spilling ou on the grass.

And we know the message
can be delivered from within.
The heart, no valentine,
decides to quit after lunch,
the power shut off like a switch,
or a tiny dark ship is unmoored
into the flow of the body's rivers,
the brain a monastery,
defenseless on the shore.

This is what I think about
when I shovel compost
into a wheelbarrow,
and when I fill the long flower boxes,
then press into rows
the limp roots of red impatients--
the instant hand of Death
always ready to burst forth
from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak.

Then the soil is full of marvels,
bits of leaflike flakes off a fresco,
red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick
to burrow back under the loam.
Then the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue,
the clouds a brighter white,

and all I hear is the rasp of the steel edge
against a round stone,
the small plants singing
with lifted faces, and the click
of the sundial
as one hour sweeps into the next.

Storm Windows (Howard Nemerov)

People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain
Drove them indoors.  So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass
I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream
Away in lines like seaweed on the tide
Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.

The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass
Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,
Something I should have liked to say to you,
Something...the dry grass bent under the pane
Brimful of bouncing water...something of
A swaying clarity which blindly echoes
This lonely afternoon of memories
And missed desires, while the wintry rain
(Unspeakable, the distance in the mind!)
Runs on the standing windows and away.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Thelma, Louise, and Calamity Lynn head West

I have just returned from a 2700 mile drive from Cleveland to Vancouver, British Columbia, and believe it or not, I didn't want it to end. Ok, picture 2 old friends, Louise-Betsy and Thelma-Lissa, who have essentially raised their kids together and get called sisters alot, along with Betsy's wonderful mother in law, Calamity Lynn, deciding to radically welcome ADVENTURE.

Around the Thanksgiving table this year, the discussion turned to how to get Alex's car from Cleveland to where he is playing junior hockey in Langley, Brithish Columbia. Alex is Betsy's 19 year old son, my godson, and Lynn's grandson. I'm afraid it was I who might have said, "Let's drive!" Before we knew it, a plan was forming and Lynn was in too. Why not, I ask you? When was the last time you saw a prairie dog in his natural surroundings, cold as they were? Looked in wonder at the badlands as they rippled the vast, flat landscape into my mother's favorite ribbon candy? How about walked around the first national park, Devil's Tower? Ate lunch in Montana with a view that took your breath away? Cackled with two gas station attendants in Wallace, Wyoming at 6am as they took apart the mayor for his shabby decorating of the town tree? Chatted with Ranger Butch as he described the 1500 Minuteman missiles silo-ed all over the Western States during the Cold War? Drove blithely over the Snoqualmie Pass gazing at the scenery without realizing that we had made it over? When, I ask you?

Not only did we have perfect, clear, sunny weather essentially every minute of the 4 day drive, we found ourselves being warmly welcomed at every single place we chose to stop. Talk about radical welcome! I heard this phrase used at church on Sunday. My dear friend and minister, Pastor Beal, used this term in her sermon about the birth of Jesus as a radical welcome to us all. I liked the phrase a great deal. We travelers felt the world embrace us and welcome us everywhere we went. What a beautiful country this is, too, even in the cold. Maybe that's why there were no lines at any national site. We laughed and realized that everything is free at this time of year (ie: boarded up), and there are no crowds; in fact, there often was not another breathing human within miles! You should try Northern Idaho in December.....magnificent! We also found our way to a Louisiana BBQ joint in a snow squall in Wyoming....you just never know what you'll find until you dive in and welcome the adventure.

Thelma, Louise, and Calamity Lynn are already thinking about their next radical adventure. Maybe the lower route to Zion, etc...or maybe the Lewis and Clark trail.....hmmmm, so many options. If anyone is interested, I kept a very brief travel-blog during the trip. the Day 4 blog is right below this one; the first three days somehow got stuck to the right on the blog under the year 2000. I can only wonder how that happened!
How about some poetry. I feel as if this wonderful wanderlust i've been feeling and and the vast open, starry skies I've been seeing require a bit of the good Vermonter, Robert Frost. How about two from the bard:

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
As it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh,I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.


Choose Something Like a Star

Oh star (the fairest one in sight)
we grant your loftiness the right
to some obscurity of cloud--
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says, "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell us something in the end.
As steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from it's sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks from us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.