And now, here's something you'll really like!

If you like choral music, you have to hear these guys.


A Company of Voices: Conspirare in Concert from KLRU / Conspirare on Vimeo.

I think their music is stunning.

I'm doin' it again...

Blogging, that is.

It's been a long winter, but we had a visit from a flock of red-winged blackbirds yesterday. In March! I don't remember ever seeing them earlier than April before, though the bird book has us just on the border of the year-round range. Also, the goldfinches are starting to turn a pale yellow.

Everything is good. Which is much better than last year at this time, when I was pretty depressed. I'm hoping things will stay good for a while, and I can get out and do some hiking when the weather gets warmer. Can't wait!

Update

Okay, I kept saying I was gonna do it and I didn't do it...now I'm doing it. Updating my blog, that is.

A couple of weeks ago I had a PET/CT scan. After I had worked myself into a frenzy over it, I found out that my breast cancer is still in remission. I am very thankful.

I finally made the decision to have my concertina repaired. I haven't played in years, ever since the woman who played with my daughter and me decided she no longer wanted to do it. She made me sort of guess at what was going on, and when I finally said, do you not want to play with us any more? she admitted that that was the case. I was shocked, bereaved, and angry. Passive-aggressive stuff always ticks me off.

Anyway, I stopped playing for a long time...wow, I didn't realize how long--it's been almost 15 years. So we'll see what it takes to be able to play again, especially with my shaky hands. Doesn't really matter, though; I'll only be doing it for fun. There's a waiting list at the Button Box, the store in Amherst, MA that will be doing the repairs. So it'll be several months before I have the concertina back.

God, these posts are dull, aren't they? Well, there's a small group of dedicated people who actually read them, so I do like to post every now and then. Thanks for checking in!

May

John and I took a walk today around the old cranberry bog in Portland. It's now a public wildlife refuge whose name escapes me at the moment.

We decided to walk all the way around the bog, which isn't terribly far, probably less than a mile. When we were about two-thirds of the way around, we had to go off the trail, which was flooded.

They've been fighting--or, I guess, trying to work with---the beavers that dominate the place, but as of today, the beavers were winning. We finally had to cross one of their dams--it was either that or get very wet, and while it was a mild sixty degrees today, neither John nor I felt much like swimming. We managed it with just a couple of wet toes.

My PET/CT scan has been scheduled for the week after next. If there's no progression of my breast cancer, treatment will stay the same. If there's a spot or two that can be irradiated, the oncologist might still continue the same chemo. If more significant progression is found, I'll move on to another chemo.

I love this time of year. Even as all the green dies, the earth seems so much more alive.

Samhain blessings,
May

It's been a while...

I've been having rather a tough time lately, emotionally, that is, so I haven't been blogging much. I can't seem to shake the feeling that since I have a terminal illness, there's very little point--silly, I know; it's like saying that everyone dies someday, so what's the point in living. I know intellectually that it's silly, but depression isn't always amenable to reason.

Anyway, I got kicked off eBay about a month ago because my daughter, who had been kicked off herself, listed with my account (and my permission, of course). This is no biggie, except that I miss the people on my eBay groups. A couple of them have sent me emails saying they're concerned about me, and I can't answer the emails since I can't use the eBay mail system. If any of you happen to check in here, I'm alive and still doing okay, and I appreciate your concern.

John and I took a couple of foliage drives this weekend. I was pretty grateful to John, because I know how much he hates to waste energy, but I was about to implode. It was nice to see the beautiful fall foliage in the Connecticut countryside.

Oh, and one wonderful thing happened...I met two miniature donkeys! We were driving down a country road and saw them, and I made John stop. They came right up to the fence and gummed my fingers, which I was sticking through the chain links trying to pet them. I think it was because I had just eaten an apple and the juice was still on my hands. They are so freakin' adorable. Plus, now I get to cross off another one of the 100 things I wanted to do in 1,000 days (see right hand column for url)--I had put 'make friends with a donkey' on there, thinking there was a very slim chance I'd run across any here in Connecticut. Just goes to show, you never know!

Well, I'm going to work on getting some creativity and humor back into my life, and I'll be sure to pass it along if I succeed. In the meantime, happy autumn!

May

Well, I got good news at the dentist's office this morning. Both my regular dentist (I refer to him as "regular", but he's no slouch at oncologic dentistry) and the attending oral surgeon agree that the lesion on my gum is healing well. I'm so pleased!

I keep thinking that sometime between watching the Red Sox and reading the latest issue of Funny Times, I'll find the meaning of life.

Hinduism tells us that beyond pleasure, beyond worldly success, even beyond performing our duties to the world, there is the eternal foundation of being. God.

As fall approaches, I watch frenetic squirrels jump from tree to tree in search of food for the winter. Sometimes they must miss and fall. How are you? people ask me. Even the doctors don't really want to know.

If I could just grasp onto the emptiness, I think I'd be all right. But I guess it's right to keep on searching.

I've been going through yet another mini health crisis over the past couple of weeks. I have these things called tori (plural of torus), which are bony growths in my mouth. They are slow-growing, benign, and common. The problem is that the mucus membrane that covers them is easily abraded with rough foods.

This is only really a problem because I am on the IV bisphosphonate Zometa, which is used to help avoid bone metastases from my cancer. Zometa carries a very small risk of a lovely condition called osteonecrosis of the jaw, in which the jawbone begins to die. The risk is increased when bone is exposed, which is why I had to have a root canal in a wisdom tooth a couple of years ago, instead of just having it pulled.

So: put all these things together and you have a much increased risk for a painful and debilitating secondary condition of my metastatic breast cancer.

My dentist scared the hell out of me last week. He looked in my mouth and said, "Oh, looks like we have some exposed bone here", which made me gurgle "Oh, no!" the way one does with several dental instruments in one's mouth. "Actually, it looks like the bone isn't exposed yet", he said. I still don't know if he was just trying to make me feel better or what. My oncologist admits it's a serious concern.

Anyway, the dentist prescribed this steroid paste which has an adhesive that's supposed to make it stick to the gum. Mostly it sticks to my tongue, but the sore does seem to be healing. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Since I don't have enough fingers to cover everything that goes on, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep yours crossed too. Just drive carefully.

And wish me luck in my search for the meaning of life!

May

Haiku

.
DAY AT THE BEACH

Belly sagging down
Against the warm, shell-pricked sands--
Trembling breath--out, in.
.

I'd like to introduce: Miss Lily White

Meet Lily.

It was a cat-filled week. Our friends Cathy and Pat asked us to check in on their cat, Daisey, while they were away on vacation. So we went to see her every day this past week, fed her, and played for a while. To my utter amazement, she was very welcoming and sweet to us each day (she can be a little moody). It was fun.

In the meantime, the little lady whose picture you see here was hanging around our house. She was skinny, so of course we fed her...and she kept hanging around. We checked newspapers and vets, and looked for any notices or posters, but we didn't find anything. So we made an appointment with our vet, and took her in for inoculations and a checkup. The vet told us that there was a mushrooming problem with people dumping their pets if they've been foreclosed on, and that that may be why no one was looking for her. She's extremely friendly--a lap cat--and appeared well cared for, though the vet was pretty sure she had a tapeworm. FeLV and FIV tests were negative. The only problem is that the vet couldn't find a spaying scar, which will be an issue if she got pregnant during her wandering. But we have to go back for more shots in three weeks, so the vet can check again to see if she feels pregnant. I'd hate to pay for surgery, only to find out that she'd already been spayed. If she's not pregnant, there's no reason for surgery. With males you have the spraying issue, but a female in heat is no big deal.

There's been a bit of hissing going on around here, not least from Lily herself. It seems fairly obvious that she's never been around other cats. She's a brave little thing, though. The vet thinks she's about five or six years old, but she only weighs seven pounds, three ounces, making her the smallest of our cats. By the way, she's all white. Anyway, we're kind of excited to have her!

May

Okay, another meme thing. I couldn't resist this one because I'm so interested in words. Click at the bottom to give yourself the quiz.

(It was right on for me--non-Boston-area northeast.)

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Northeast Judging by how you talk you are probably from north Jersey, New York City, Connecticut or Rhode Island. Chances are, if you are from New York City (and not those other places) people would probably be able to tell if they actually heard you speak.
Philadelphia
The Inland North
The Midland
The South
Boston
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Cadeaux!

An artist named Anne, at her beautiful 'Bulles Dorees' blog, is having a giveaway to celebrate her six-month blog anniversary. You can check it out here, and also see her gorgeous artwork. Happy anniversary, Anne!

I've decided to put my poems from my other blog (a non-starter) on this blog, so they'll all be in the same place. Here they are.

Psychopomp

I
am
happy
to
hear
your
equinox
voice
again,
dear catbird.

Sing
your
message,
curt
or
kind –
shock
of
brazen
sunlight
or
miles
of
numinous
night –
and
my
voice
will
rise
to
greet
it.
Come.

May Terry

Interdependence

How can the spindly sycamore
photosynthesize enough
for that 14 foot trunk
and the tower of branch
and smaller branch,
and smaller still, new and
struggling to reach out,
with that sparse lace of leafy
canopy?

I guess we have to count on
Nature to mother it,
as she does the lilies of the field,
and the small determined sparrow.

I, too, count on her,
but I know that she, also,
must count on me.
Take care.

May Terry

It's always interesting to reread my poems after not seeing them for a while. I'd rate the first one okay, I guess, but I think the second one sucks, with the possible exception of the second stanza.

I reread this one recently, and I've decided it's almost sort of good. So there you have it.

Buzz

It's been a long time since I've written a "real" post to this blog. Call it writer's block, or laziness, or whatever you want--the fact is I've been feeling rather flat lately, emotionally speaking. I've been filling in my time with reading, watching baseball on TV, anything to avoid admitting to myself that I'm mildly depressed, and to keep from obsessing about death.

Today I turned off the small TV we keep in the computer room. John had been watching the Olympics while working on his computer. I rarely watch that set, so I noticed that it turns off in a different way from the living room TV--it fades very quickly to a spot, making a buzzing sound as it does so, then goes dark.

While riding to get the takeout, I found myself remembering a poem I first read in high school, by Emily Dickenson:

I heard a Fly buzz -- when I died --
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air --
Between the Heaves of Storm --

The Eyes around -- had wrung them dry --
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset -- when the King
Be witnessed -- in the Room --

I willed my Keepsakes -- Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable -- and then it was
There interposed a Fly --

With Blue -- uncertain stumbling Buzz --
Between the light -- and me --
And then the Windows failed -- and then
I could not see to see --

I'm not a big Dickenson fan, but this poem surely captures the most we can guess about the moment of death, and evokes the visceral fear that I believe most people feel about dying, whether they admit it or not.

Mostly I fear that I won't be able to breathe to breathe, if you know what I'm trying to say. My obsessing over death the past few months has made it difficult for me to enjoy the summer. I do a lot of lying around, and am ashamed to have become such a couch potato. I keep expecting for something--liver or kidney failure, brain metastases--to come and announce to me that this is it, you only have a few months, or weeks.

What a waste. Why can't I stop?

A thought...

.
"We can reject everything else: religion, ideology, all received wisdom. But we cannot escape the necessity of love and compassion.... This, then, is my true religion, my simple faith. In this sense, there is no need for temple or church, for mosque or synagogue, no need for complicated philosophy, doctrine or dogma. Our own heart, our own mind, is the temple. The doctrine is compassion. Love for others and respect for their rights and dignity, no matter who or what they are: ultimately these are all we need. So long as we practice these in our daily lives, then no matter if we are learned or unlearned, whether we believe in Buddha or God, or follow some other religion or none at all, as long as we have compassion for others and conduct ourselves with restraint out of a sense of responsibility, there is no doubt we will be happy."

~ Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama ~

(Remembering the people of Tibet

and the victims of Tiananmen Square

on the opening of the Beijing Olympics )

What kind of thinker am I?

Okay, I'm back to blogging, after a period of nail-biting and existential angst. You're right, you don't want to hear about it.

What got me back here is another one of those silly quizzes. This one is called, "What kind of a thinker are you?" I cannot resist those things. So flattering, that they want to know, don't you think?

Anyway, here's the quiz:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/science/leonardo/thinker_quiz/

Below are my results. They got me to a 'T', linking me in a very agreeable way with the likes of William Shakespeare and Mother Teresa (one of my heroes). Irritatingly enough, I can't post anything after the box below, so you'll have to tune in to subsequent posts to read any more from me. I'll bet you can't wait.

You are an Interpersonal Thinker.

Interpersonal thinkers: Like to think about other people, and try to understand them Recognise differences between individuals and appreciate that different people have different perspectives Make an effort to cultivate effective relationships with family, friends and colleagues
Like interpersonal thinkers, Leonardo had lots of friends and contacts, and was a popular figure at the Italian court.		Other Interpersonal thinkers include Winston Churchill, Mother Teresa, William Shakespeare Careers which suit Interpersonal thinkers include Politician, Psychologist, Nurse, Counselor, Teacher

Inchies

I did these for a Yahoo group swap. They're one inch by one inch. It was fun!

May

Decisions, decisions

Here's an article for you, from Wendy Harpham, a physician who has long been dealing with lymphoma. (Click here for the article.)

I've decided when I face sweet Dr. Schauer, my oncologist, and he has to utter the (for him, as well as me) painful words telling me I've run out of options, I will simply ask him if I can be a high as possible from then on. It's reasonable, don't you think?

(Is she serious? Whaddaya think? Maybe it's just a toxic muse. Had chemo today, after all.)

Having serious stomach pain, which the onc thinks is gastritis due to the chemo. He suggests the possibility, if my scans are still negative next time, of going off chemo. This is scary as hell for me. The first genuine weighing of quality of life against length of life. Dr. Schauer has prescribed another stomach med for me, in hopes the bunch of them together will give me some relief. He has also faxed a referral to the Brownstone Gastroenterology Clinic, which accepts Medicare and Medicaid so that I can see someone before I blow a hole in my stomach.

John is surprised that I do not complain, as he does. It just doesn't give me any satisfaction.

The pain in my stomach has given me the first inkling that I might actually choose QOL in the end.

With metta,
May

I'm having one of those nights. As usual, I've taken enough sedatives to put a Clydesdale to sleep, and I'm wide awake.

These are invariably transformative nights that come after a period of mood swings and general craziness. If you've read my last couple of posts, you know what I mean.

The thing that really confuses me is that my sense of humor seems to be taking a long nap, and is possibly at this point comatose. I've always called on humor for perspective in my life, and now I don't seem to be able to do that. My blogs are boring and my social life is humdrum. I feel like putting on a clown face and seeing if I can make others' reactions make me laugh.

Letting go. I used to feel something like contempt for the AA saying, "Let go, let God". Now, I'm not so sure about the God part, but I sure do know that I've got to let go. It's the only way I'm going to stay sane, and that, to me, means not being overcome by the old beast of depression, or worse, addiction.

I don't expect to drink--not that most people do. But I really don't think that's the danger. I think the danger is becoming addicted, again, to the emotional patterns that make me miserable. They still afford some degree of familiarity, and therefore a weird sort of comfort. That means I can choose: misery or facing the demons. I don't feel very courageous at the moment, or very clear on how to do the latter.

I'm planning on going back to a regular spiritual practice. While spiritual seeking is a worthwhile activity, it's not one that brings me back into harmony with the truths I've found over the years. Only a ritual practice of some sort will do that.

I splurged and ordered a Persephone statue for myself. I am setting up my altar upstairs so that I will be reminded daily to face my inevitable end. This is not morbid. This is where I am in life.

I might even get a bumper sticker that reminds me to let go. If I let go, Mother Earth will take care of me. If I empty myself, I will be filled.

With metta,
May

Well, Ann, whom I spoke about in my last blog post, died yesterday, in peace at home.

The funny thing is that I feel better today. I feel sad for Ann's family and friends, but I think I've let go again. I just said to myself: it's okay if I don't live another five years, or a year, or five months. I'll just live while I'm alive.

Why can't I let go like that at will?