i fear i have lost my taste for wine and coffee...two staples of life

But thank God I still have a taste for lefse. I think I'll write this up for JAMA: Woman makes it through cancer treatments by living on lefse, cheeseburgers, and chili!

I woke up with the blues yesterday. I did everything I knew to make it better...tea, soft music, yoga (well, I meant to do yoga), a warm bath, conversation with Deb on the phone, lunch with Jill, turkey soup, To no avail. I had to come home quickly after lunch (Jill saw that I was fading fast) and crawl into bed. I was sooo tired.

I woke up feeling groggy and funny. We went downtown to pay a bill but I wasn't recovering. I came home and took some Tylenol and got into my pajamas. We watched a movie called The Giant Mechanical Man, which I loved. Finally, I started to feel better.

I'm only telling this long tale of woe to illustrate how my mind runs during an episode like this. I have turned into a hypochondriac and not only that but a hypochondriac of the future. These were my thoughts over the course of the afternoon:

• I can't drink wine anymore. Wine caused me to feel like this.
• Or maybe it was the coffee in the morning that made me sick.
• I have the flu.
• I will have to go to the ER and will be admitted to the hospital. All this in the absence of a temperature.
• I won't be able to go to my class tomorrow.
• I looked at my calendar and determined that I won't be able to go anywhere for the next two months.
• I'll have to miss the next two birthday parties in February.
• I only want to eat lefse, shortbread cookies, and cheeseburgers.
• I am a whack-a-doo.

By 7 o'clock I was feeling better. Who knows what this was about except for extreme weirdness.

I had the most wonderful surprise about 5 o'clock. The Spee-Dee delivery van pulled into the driveway. I asked Regis to go to the door since I was not wearing my head covering and I was in pajamas. No need to frighten the guy. He opened the door as the dude was sprinting down the sidewalk hollering, "I've got lefse for Teresa!" A lefse angel!

This lefse is by far the best next to homemade. My cousin Deb has sent two shipments of homemade lefse that have been wonderful and so I suspected her of this surprise but she claims no knowledge. I had a piece last night before bed. Nothing like making sweet dreams with good lefse.

My mom also claims she was not the perpetrator of the lefse drop. Whoever did it...thank you! It was a wonderful surprise.

Jill and I had a nice lunch...I had a cheeseburger and chili, of course. We talked and talked until I started to list to the left and she took me home. A guy can never see enough of good friends.

I slept well last night and today already feels like a winner. I'll work on that.

my writer's notebook

When I was a teacher, my favorite thing to teach was writing. Not to adults so much because they had their giant sets of nasty fears fed by red pens for all the years of their writing education. It was hard for them to get past that. The monkey mind, Natalie Goldberg calls it.

Adults had fears that they would make a mistake (Oh, God! A dangling participle!) or something would sound stupid. It was nearly impossible to get them to let go and just write.

If you could to kids in time, before the pestilence of the five paragraph essay had them in its death grip, they could learn to enjoy writing, to think of it as just thinking on paper, as mental gymnastics or self-expression.

My friend, Jill, and I did a lot of staff development for teachers of writing, much of it unsuccessful in the ling run, but still fun. We had a lot of conversations in the car on the way to wherever, about writing and teaching writing. Some of the favorite memories of my teaching life.

Once, we had to beat a hasty retreat from a small town up north were the teachers turned not only restive but downright hostile. They wanted something different! They wanted grammar rules! They wanted margins to be measured and spelling mistakes to be counted! They wanted us run out of town on a rail! We escaped, but barely. It was like the Old West with no six-shooters.

Who would think that teachers would be so obstinate in their thinking about learning?

Anyway, by way of long-winded explanation, this is my writer's notebook. It's like an artist's sketchbook or a sculptor's idea book. Not saying I am any kind of artist, but sitting here every morning as I have for more than six years now, composing blog posts is a form of exercise I love.

Throughout the day, things in my head get sorted into little piles...forget that, remember this, good blog material. In the morning, or sometimes as I go to sleep, I try to massage the things for the blog into a theme, but not usually. Usually, I just start writing.

In the end, it's just my thoughts. Written down. It doesn't have to be of any high quality. I have looked back and liked some posts much better than others. Some made me laugh out loud again. Some made me wish I'd had another cup of coffee and forgotten about the posting for that day. Some were stupid. It doesn't matter.

Jill and I had fantasies about buying a Willie Nelson bus and going around the country teaching people to write and to love writing. We would have been good at it but we ran out of energy for it and we never had the money. Just think, we could have pulled into your town, set out some cold lemonade and cookies, and spent an afternoon writing down your memories. What fun that would have been.

My week with cancer update: I had my third A & C treatment last Thursday. I slept a lot for three days but now I'm back to feeling more energetic. Regis and I are going to the Exercise Is Medicine program through Mayo so we're getting regular exercise. Tomorrow night I am going to a program at the clinic for which I cannot remember the name. Something clever. They give you lots of samples of make-up and teach you how to take care of your skin. I signed up for this?

Jill and I are having lunch today, I'm going for a walk if it isn't too cold outside, and I have a few errands to run. My mom has been so good about sending me little surprise packages in the mail and I want to return the favor. It will be a good day.

the back of my head and cancer

I've never owned a hand mirror. I had no interest in the back of my hair, always having a style that didn't require a lot of fussing. I figured, too, if somebody didn't like the way the back of my hair was arranged, the could avert their eyes.

Now, I need a hand mirror. As my hair has made it's exit, I am left with some patchy and itchy stuff on the back of my head. Where I can't see it. As I've gotten more comfortable with baring my bald head in public and as it's become more necessary, as when my body temperature goes through the roof, I want to know what's back there.

The strange things we worry about.

I'm thinking this morning about what marks the passage of time in my life. Tiffany will be 28 this March and Peter will be 26 in April. Reg will be 35 in a couple weeks. How can we be old enough to have children approaching their 30's and 40's? Ella turned 7 on her recent birthday and she was asking, already, about when she could learn to drive. Life goes by at warp speed, my friends.

I've read that cancer can be like that...a marker in your life. Before I was diagnosed and after I was diagnosed. Like the lives of people who have lived and died with it. My dad's death from caner, and my grandma's death from cancer, both stand out as memorable, and painful, times in my life but also as times when relationships and events were crystallized in some way. I can recall conversations I had with my grandma about her favorite tea cups and her other possessions with amazing clarity. Something about dying, or the awareness of it, brings things into focus in a way nothing else can.

The other day I thought that my cancer diagnosis was like the tornado. At first, my mind could only take in small parts of it. I looked into the back yard and noticed the bird feeder tipped over by the wind. Then I noticed the tree limbs waist deep all over the yard. It took days to notice that one had smashed my car right in front of the house. Longer still to see the devastation suffered by the neighbors across the street.

My view of cancer has broadened in much the same way. At first it was a wound right in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know if I should try to spit it out or swallow it deeper into my body. Cover it up. Try to ignore it. I didn't want to hear the word cancer, I didn't want to hear about other people who had it and survived, or not. I didn't want to know anything about all those words like markers and receptors. I've grown accustomed to it now, it just lies there, but it does let me notice other people with cancer, it lets me understand conversations about my treatment and my prognosis, it lets me go on with my life with cancer as a sidelight, not the main show.

Maybe I should think of the back of my head like that. It ain't the main show, friends. It's one thing, maybe a patchy scaly thing, but it's not me. It's just my head. Just like it's only my cancer.

This is my Valentine tree which will serve as my can of whoop ass for the week!

a floor angel!

Callum and Amanda McGregor didn't let a little ice storm and residual mud stop them from making an angel! Thanks for your contribution to the snow angel project!

my chemo fugue state

For a few days after my treatment, I wander around in a fugue state. I don't think I am in any danger of trying to establish a new identity but the memory loss and wandering has me concerned. I wasn't vertical very many hours yesterday although I did manage to make a delicious beef stew with dumplings for dinner.

I took my first nap by 9 am, my second shortly after noon, and a third about 3 o'clock. It feels so good to sleep that I don't berate myself for it. Today is the last day for the big nausea drugs so tomorrow I should be more alert. Here's hoping.

This morning, I woke at 3 am, tired of being in bed. I came out to light the Christmas tree, the little fireplace, and to make coffee. I read for a while, had coffee and a scone, and when it was still dark, I went back to bed for a while. Now I have been up for a half hour again, and it is still dark. It's 7:10 and it is still pitch dark.

Maybe a person not enduring chemo would be confused and wandering with this kind of schedule. That is something to consider.

It's time to take the ornaments off the Christmas tree but I'm not making any promises that will get done today. In fact, I would say very likely not today. That would mean getting out the Valentine's Day ornaments and doing the re-decoration. Too much.

I was thinking last night that my feelings about having cancer have changed. In the beginning, I was angry and sad and very frustrated. I don't feel that way anymore. It just seems like cancer is shit that some people get and this happens to be mine. I wasn't singled out...it happens to lots of people. I seem to be able to live my life pretty much the way I want to in spite of cancer and I am optimistic that I will recover and life will go on as it did in the past.

I can hear the train whistle, a mournful tune on a dark, January morning. Regis hates the sound but I like it. It reminds me of traveling by train a few times when I was a little girl.

My friend, Cynthia Bradbury, sent this darling snow angel baby picture.

This is my niece, Nicole, making a snow angel. She has her own set of worries right now so that she took the time and found the joy to make snow angels is touching.

They must have had a layer of fresh snow in Fargo...this is a beauty! This is an angel with vigor!

This is the snow angel I made at Chankaska Creek Winery on New Year's Eve. We didn't take the picture until more than a week later so it doesn't look bad considering that our snow badly needs to be refreshed. I know you have to look hard to see the angel...but it's old snow and it's an angel. It shouldn't be easy.

That's enough of my early morning ramblings. It's finally light enough to see across the street. I think I'll wander back to the kitchen to find some more coffee. I can feel a burst of energy coming on today. We'll see what transpires.

pickin' out the bad cells and knockin' 'em on the head

This was in my head when I woke up this morning. I don't think I can remember the rest of the words but if I could, it would make a heck of a cancer song. The toxins are coursing through my system and knocking those cancer cells on their heads. Sometimes they get a good cell, too, because they don't have effective night vision, and that explains the loss of hair and other side effects.

There are some days I can forget I have cancer, but not many. The outward signs are harder to ignore than the inward signs. The bald head, the scars, the port. Those are visible and I see them or feel them almost constantly. I wonder how they know it's working.

Regis thought I used the worst photo of my shoes because it didn't show the true colors. I like this shot because it shows my leopard chair. I could get dressed in all my animal gear and you would even be able to see me in this chair. Don't worry about me walking anywhere in these shoes, Mom...they are only for sitting. Wearing shoes like this to walk around is considered high risk behavior in women over 60.

If you put "how to walk in platform heels" into google, you'll find out everything you always wanted to know. I think I'll stick with sitting.

We woke up very early, had some eggs and toast, and now I'm ready for a nap.

chemo in pictures

I didn't have much gumption yesterday. I tried turning on the television but I forgot to watch it and turned it off again. I did some knitting and some visiting but mostly what I did was sit in my big chemo chair and take pictures to document the event. 

The control on my big chair. I can have a heated massage!

Television remote control...and my hat.

I'm usually cold when I get there so I wear boots and I ask for a heated blanket.

The little door there is how my chemicals come from the pharmacy. It's a big suction device like they have at banks. Wooshhhh...and there they are.

What the chemicals look like on the IV pole.

Almost done with Peter's scarf.

At some point during this mess, I get a hot flash and have to strip my boots, my hat and scarf, and lose the blanket.

Where Regis sits to keep me company.

Here I am with the bear Tom got me for my birthday this year. I like to take comfort things.

See how bad my eyes look?

Regis told me to make sure I had my eyes open.

Almost done. I'm more comfortable with my head now. I even bared it at the restaurant when we went out for lunch.

Done with third treatment!

When we got home, these lovely shoes were in the mail. Regis ordered them for me as a surprise. A friend of mine asked if they were hard to walk in and I said these are not walking around shoes. These are shoes for sitting in a chair and looking elegant.

My friend, Caroline in Boston, made snow angels on the beach for me.

Hurray for Caroline!

I had a pod mate named Arlene. She is 91 years old and told me about learning to drive the horses on the farm and what a treat it was to finally get a tractor. She is the head of the prayer chain at her church and said they will pray for me. I thought that was sweet. Arlene will be in two weeks from now for her transfusion so we said we would look for each other.

All in all, a good day. Thanks for all the encouraging words and prayers.

i forgot to make dinner and my daily can of whoop ass

I was really lazy yesterday so I laid around and read most of the afternoon. About five, when I wandered out to the living room, I told Regis I had forgotten to make dinner. It worked once, it could work again.

I'm off to my third chemotherapy treatment today. I have one left after today and then it's on to something new. In spite of my sleeping issues, I feel strong.

the way things smell

I took two naps yesterday. I hadn't slept well the night before and my sleep consultant said I should sleep when the opportunity presented itself so I did. When I got up from my second nap, Regis said he was taking me to the winery.

There is nothing better for a bad case of the crankies than a trip to a winery with a fireplace, soft lights, and friendly women. My snow angel was still visible outside the door, even with the warmer weather. Oh, yeah...it was Pinot and Pizza night, too, so it was win win win all around. We clinked our glasses a few times to toast...something...and had a very nice time.

I slept like a baby last night. Wine can be very good therapy.

I've figured out that having cancer and going through chemotherapy is a little bit like being pregnant. Every day is different and I'm never sure if my symptoms are related to the big thing or if I'm just being hyper vigilant about my health...or just being weird.

The other night we cooked a flank steak which is a favorite of mine. It smelled wonderful while it was cooking, then all of a sudden when it hit the table, I thought, "I can't live here with that awful smell!" Nancy, I'm glad you told me your smell story so I knew I wasn't having an olfactory hallucination.

I've had trouble sleeping for twenty years. I'm not sure the advent of insomnia coincided with the start of menopause or my children finally sleeping through the night. I was so used to waking up in the night that once I could sleep, I couldn't sleep.

So my insomnia is worse some nights. In the handbook of chemotherapy, it says that insomnia is a side effect of either cancer or the treatment. So, is this my usual sleeplessness or exacerbated sleeplessness? I lie awake at night and wonder if there is a dog... which is a reference to my favorite joke about the dyslexic agnostic insomniac.

I'm going to mention it to the doctor. I tried the guided imagery again the other night and wanted to throw my iPod against the wall and stick a steak knife in my ear. I am not stretching my toes toward the sky and I am not feeling myself sink into the pillow and who thought that her little drugged out voice would be soothing?

I'm looking forward to the three post-chemo days when I go about in a dexamethasone-lorazepam haze. My neighbor slapped his knee and laughed out loud when I told him about this the other day. He said that was quite the positive spin on chemotherapy. Chemo for insomniacs. I should start a support group.

There are a couple of local characters who try to out one-line each other on twitter. Of course, they're up in the middle of the night but I read their tweets at 4 am. I call it my Coffee and Comedy start to the day.

I had three jobs that I had been procrastinating about for weeks: taking excess shoes and boots to the basement, updating my address list, and writing some thank you notes. I got busy and did them all in less than an hour. This makes no sense. I spent way more time not wanting to do those things than I did in doing them.

Going to my geriatric exercise class this morning. I'll try to put a burn on those old guys with the oxygen tanks. Maybe it's not so bad, this exercising with the old and infirm. I'm on the honor roll instead of in the remedial group.

spam, sleep, symptoms, and cranky: WARNING

Cranky pretty much sums it up.

I was awake until 2 o'clock last night, moved to the couch, fell asleep until 5 o'clock. I woke up at one point with my head wedged between the pillow and the back of the couch and thought what the hell where am I. I spent more time trying to sleep than I did sleeping.

I have to change the comment setting on my blog again. Sorry to make it more complicated, Mom, but I am getting too much spam from robots promoting Pakistani baseball, Viagra, or knock-off Gucci purses. Do they really think anybody reads that shit? Half the time it's in a language I can't even read. It's really irritating me this morning. See paragraph above.

The other day, I complained about not experiencing any symptoms from my chemo treatments and wondered if they were slipping me bags of plain saline. Ah, yeah. Be careful what you wish for, I'd say. I have been experiencing symptoms.

I called the research nurse yesterday because the top of my head itches like a bitch, my eyes look like I've been on an opium bender, and my skin is drying up. She is always very interested in my symptoms and has good ideas. I bought a cool mist humidifier, I massaged the top of my head, I bought saline drops.

I had to pay 14 dollars for a bottle of plain saline drops for my eyes. Seriously. There are tons of drops on the shelf for two dollars a bottle but the plain saline with no chemicals they keep behind the counter and it costs seven times as much. How does this make sense? That math was hard for me, by the way.

Last night I was fascinated when I could grab a fingerful of the tiny stubble and it would come out in my hand. I stared at it by the light of my Kindle. Tiny pinches of hair in the eerie light of an electronic device.

I had to get out of my chair just now and walk into the other room to shut off my favorite radio station. It's Elvis's birthday today so that's the musical agenda. I can't stand Elvis on a good day.

Yes, some good things have happened in the last few days, but just let me get this out of my system.

I went to my new exercise class yesterday. It's like a fitness center for the aged...lots of pink hair, walkers, and oxygen tanks. My new friend, Allen, told me that he noticed right away that I could tie my shoe laces in the middle. He said old fat guys with big bellies like himself tie them on the side or not at all.

I used to go to a gym where the women ran marathons. Have I crossed over to the other side?

My volume knob hurts again today. I suppose it was the stretching I did yesterday. Even Tiffany, who is fascinated with all things weirdly medical thinks the port is gross. It's my new alien baby.

I think that's all the complaining I want to do today. Here is my list of things going well:

• I like my new exercise class. The trainers are very smart and helpful and the people there are friendly. I got to pick the radio station yesterday. (Oh, my God. This sounds like playing Cootie for bananas in the nursing home, Jane.)
• Regis took my long grocery list and went to the store this morning before it was even light. I hate going to the grocery store. I wander around and buy weird things then get home and wonder what to do with them.
• I have two things coming in the mail. A package of homemade lefse from Deb and Larry in Arizona. Don't be staking out my mailbox for the next few days because I don't leave the house!
• The other is a dress from Betty and Tom in Texas. Maybe it will be a wild colored south of the border looking dress and I can wear it to my next chemo appointment. I like to go for the outrageous attire when I go there...no blue gowns or sweat pants.
• I had to confess to the pharmacist at Walgreen's that I lost the syringes for my Vitamin B. She was very nice about it and replaced them without making me feel like a junkie. I picked up the lost ones the day of my first chemo appointment, then it was Christmas. Who knows where they went? They disappeared in the flotsam and jetsam of daily living.

That's enough for today. Things will always get better.

snow angels: my daily can of whoop ass

Snow Angel

It’s easy to make one,
lying on your back
in the newest snow.

You sweep your arms
up and down to make
a pattern that looks like wings.

Later you forget your creation,
go inside for some hot chocolate.
That’s when she rises from the snow,

takes a feathery breath, tries her wings.
She skims over frozen lakes
like the faintest handwriting.

Later when you climb beneath the covers,
she peers in through your frosty window,
happy you called her into the world.

I went for a walk yesterday afternoon when the sun was perfect for a snow angel picture. I walked by many yards with undisturbed snow and I was so tempted to flop down and make one, but I was sure that I would be seen and medical authorities would be called before I could make my escape.

When I got home, there was a nice spot on the boulevard so I went to work. Sure enough, the neighbors across the street walk out their front door and the neighbors to the north pull into their driveway. Jan rolled down the window and asked it they should call 911. I said no, I'm making a snow angel.

Maybe I should do this after dark. People would wake up, look out the front window, and there would be a perfect snow angel.

Hannah and Miles make snow angels. Thanks, Jill, for sending the poem and the picture!

While reading about snow angels, I found the world record for most snow angels made at one time. February 14, 2011 — Nova Scotians are confident they have broken the Guinness World Record for making the most snow angels in different places at once.

The article says the event proved to be more of an uplifting experience than anticipated. “From what people have told me, the exact moment the kids all fell back, it was a really emotional experience for those watching.”

Which proves my theory. Making snow angels is good for you. It's like an emotional can of whoop ass for the bad shit that happens. Make snow angels instead of reading the news. Make snow angels instead of dusting and sweeping. Make snow angels instead of thinking about cancer. And a place where schools take the time to organize snow angel events instead of standardized testing sessions? Heaven.

I have my next chemotherapy treatment on Thursday. Adriamycin and Cytoxan. My chemical cocktail for the day. A friend of mine asked me yesterday, how will they know it's working? That stopped me for a second. How will they know it's working?

I almost wish (not really) that I had some side effects because side effects would be a reminder of the fact of cancer being a part of my life. The way it is, some days I can forget I have cancer. This is a good thing except that it makes the moment when I realize, again, that I do, more of a smackdown that it would be if cancer was hanging around in the front of my brain all the time. 

I feel like I am coming up on the top of the roller coaster again and Thursday morning will be the crest...looking at the down hill screaming side. That's my reminder that I have cancer...going to the Cancer Center, getting blood drawn, meeting with the research nurse and the oncologist, sitting in a room full of other cancer patients many of whom look tired and sick, having a nurse come at me with bag after bag of toxic shit. And I know it's toxic because they look like this:

That's why I need the snow angel whoop ass...to fight off the open can of fuck.

snow and sand angels...i put out the call again

One day this week, I put out the call for snow angel pictures, or if my friends live in a warm climate, a sand angel would do. I asked that people send them to me. The response was underwhelming but I was tickled with this picture my friend, Sharon, sent from Sarasota, Florida. The sand is so white it looks like snow!

I love that the sand angel has a straw hat in the final photo. I would still like to get pictures if you have half a mind to lay yourself down in the tall grass, or snow, or sand. Whatever you got where you live.

I took Gus for a walk yesterday and thought about dropping into the snow myself but I was in the area of the hospital and I was afraid someone would send out the ambulance if I suddenly dropped to my back and starting flopping my arms and legs around.

If you aren't of a mind to do it yourself, don't you know some small kids who would like to learn to make snow angels? Snow angels are like May baskets...a disappearing art. Be a part of the movement to revive the art of snow angels!

Really, we would all be better off if we worried more about snow angels and less about housecleaning and bills. I would say the aging process has you firmly in its grasp if you never get the urge to make a snow angel. Rebel! Get in the snow!

After today, we will be a one car family. We really don't need two cars anymore, we won't have to pay insurance on two cars, and someone else can benefit from the good care the little Corolla had from Regis. Bye bye, Toyota!

Tiffany and I met to transfer the title. Because she was working, we met up in Mankato. We had both looked on the internet to see where to go but before we ended up in the right place, we went to the Justice Center, the old courthouse, and the recycling center which is a very upscale and modern looking building. Not the kind of place you would expect to find old newspapers and tin cans. Finally, we both ended up at the government center licensing department. Mankato...better signage? Better information on the web?

When I was at the Paw the other day, a dog passed me that looked like my old friend, Deb's dog, Dickens. Dickens was a big dog and a lab/Basset cross. Like a giant lab with half-legs but he could jump like an NBA star. When we were in the yard, he would often do a vertical leap to peer at us over the five-foot fence. It was truly amazing. Dickens looked like this.

I commented to the woman behind the desk that I used to know a dog like that who could jump straight into the air. She laughed and said this dog's owners have their kitchen table set up on cinder blocks because the dog can jump onto the table. I laughed and laughed.

So last night, Deb came down and I showed her the picture I had drawn of Dickens and the table on cinder blocks. Deb's son, Ryan, is an artist, and he says anybody can learn to draw. I sent my picture home with her and said to tell him this could be proof that it might not be true. We had a glass of Ass Kicker beer, watched for cardinals, and talked about when our kids were little and played together in refrigerator boxes on the driveway. It was a sweet evening.

 

My friend, Richie, is stopping over this morning. She brought us a spaghetti dinner the other night and we enjoyed it immensely. The food other people prepare always tastes so good!

Regis is off to do tax prep schooling for AARP this morning. As I would rather be staked naked to an ant hill and covered with honey, I am staying home doing what I do best: sitting in my chair, drinking coffee, and socializing.

Ella and I made snow angels on December 20, 2010 in Mike's yard. There was a full moon and it was magical. See our angels behind us?

It was a beautiful winter that year.

i've got no circadian rhythm and i can't dance

I was reading about insomnia in the middle of the night. Apparently it has something to do with circadian rhythm. Mine has disappeared or I never had any. Is this related to the reason I am a terrible dancer? Is this related to my Norwegian heritage?

I keep trying to find a theme to the bear pictures or some relation to a bigger picture. I am having no luck. So  here, bear pictures on Friday. Happy weekend.

Bear in bikini rides trike

Bears dance to YMCA

the best defense against an open can of you-know-what

My old friend and neighbor, Deb, who leaves frequent comments on my blog, told me yesterday that the best defense against an open can of fuck is the daily opening of a can of whoop ass. I don't know why I didn't think of that! Thanks, Deb! Frankly, I think we should write this up for JAMA as there is probably true evidence that whoop ass works.

For some reason the concept of whoop ass cracks me up. I spent ten minutes looking for images of whoop ass on google. There are no images for the other can...the one that hit me in the morning...I checked that out, too.

My POD is to finish updating my address list, call Irene, print some pictures, write some thank you notes, and walk for twenty minutes. And to open a fresh can of whoop ass.

silver saddles and sunday parades

I worked in a bar when I was in college. One of the many characters who frequented Brannigan's was fond of saying life ain't all silver saddles and Sunday parades. Boy, he wasn't whistlin' Dixie.

I was on my way into the shower this morning and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My head is bald. I have a scar on one breast and a port sticking up like a knob on the other one. My nipples point in two different directions...one southwesterly and the other more distinctly north. They are not symmetrical. I have a scar under my left arm and looks like the flap on an envelope. Oh, hello gnarly old body.

I can go days and days and not think about cancer but then I have this moment in the mirror and it's like getting walloped with an open can of fuck. I was suddenly tired of hats and scarves, tired of drugs, tired of appointments, tired of all of it. Nothing was funny. I wanted to go back to bed.

Then I had an appointment this afternoon for a health assessment with a program called Exercise is Medicine. On my way out the door, I thought this will be a brief assessment as life suckage has reached a record high this morning.

But what do you know, just when you think you can never be cynical enough, things take a turn for the better. The sun comes out. You start singing and dancing again. And here comes the parade!

I meant to only go one time but they were all so happy and encouraging that I signed up for two times a week for a month and now I'm trying to convince Regis to join me. They have Sirius radio, they laugh a lot and everybody else is toting oxygen tanks so we'll be able to beat them in foot races, for sure.

Dude, it is all silver saddles and Sunday parades!

admitting ignorance

When I wake up early, sometimes I do some retail therapy on the internet so I am quiet and don't wake Regis before he's ready.

This morning, I was looking at my favorite eyewear website, Bleudame. I wanted some clear glass eyewear since my glasses don't correct for my cataract anyway and I can see fine for the most part. Except for that myopia thing. I'm tired of the same old glasses so I ordered a few pair from this place...for ten bucks each. I paid a king's ransom for my last pair of real glasses so what the hell. This is a pretty cheap fashion opportunity.

So. I'm looking at the website and they have a list of celebrities on the left sidebar. Apparently, if you are a fan, you can buy glasses like your favorite celebrity. It was a long list made mostly of names of which I have no flipping awareness. Even if I had some shadow of recognition of the name, I had no idea what kind of glasses they wear. Kim Kardashian? Dakota Fanning? Ah, well. I'm a cultural idiot.

I have also gotten interested in looking at vintage stuff on Etsy. It amuses me because, for example, I just looked at a porcelain doorknob, exactly like the one I have on the door in the basement, that is going for $38. Clothes that look like what I wore in the 60s...that cost way more now than they did new. If only I had kept all that old crap and sold it on Etsy, I'd probably have enough money to pay for my health insurance.

 I just had the best sweet roll in the universe. Sticky caramelized sugar on the bottom with very subtle orange flavored cream cheese icing. With a little Hope butter, that is heaven...right there. Thanks, Paul!

We took a package of Deb's lefse out of the freezer yesterday and it was so good. When you've only had store-bought lefse for a while, the real thing is even better than you imagined. Thanks, Deb!

I'm going for an exercise assessment this afternoon at the Mayo Clinic Cardiac Rehab Center. I don't need cardiac rehab but they offer it to cancer patients, too. I haven't been exercising much since my diagnosis. I think I'm tired, I'm worried about hurting myself (I know...makes no sense.), and I'm worried about germs. Sounds like a hypochondriac to me.

a forgotten post about the nightgown

I made chocolate truffles and buckwheat cheese straws and had my friend Joanne over for a glass of wine today. When that was all said and done, I got on the interwebs and ordered a nightgown from LL Bean and a pack of  thank you notes from Etsy. Ahhh. Someone carry me into the bedroom. It's been a big day.

I'd really like to go back to the hospital for a few days and lounge around in this nightgown, have nurses bring me warm drinks and cool compresses and fan my face. What the hell.

I can hardly keep up with the need to thank folks. I thought I would send Christmas cards with a note saying thanks for you acts of kindness but holy crap, they keep coming. Such a nice problem to have.

awake in the middle of the night

When I'm awake in the middle of the night on the first day of the new year, it doesn't bode well. I was awake off and on from 11 o'clock on, and finally got up at 3. What the hell is up with that?

Our house is cold in the middle of the night, the theory being that if you are in bed, you don't need heat in the living room.

I would like some eggs and toast but I don't really feel like leaving the comfort of my chair in front of the fireplace to make breakfast. It could be my only option, however.

These old friends came down from the cities yesterday to have breakfast and visit. We went to Whiskey River, had a nice time watching the birds and turkeys, then popped into Swedish Kontur where a nice gentleman took our picture. Then, suddenly, I had to go home and take a nap.

In the past few years, Regis and I usually hunker down on New Year's Eve. We planned yesterday to make dinner at home and watch a movie. For some reason, about 4 o'clock we took a notion to go out to the winery for an early glass of wine and a pizza.

We didn't want to be there when the crowds descended because of the germ thing. I know it might be impossible to avoid them (germs not crowds) but I do my best. So, we were the only customers for a while, we gabbed with our favorite servers, Angie and I traded earrings because she really needed to bling it up a notch, and we had our favorite Quattro Fromaggio pizza by the fire. So nice.

The sky was winter opal as we left so I made a snow angel by the door. I tried to convince another patron to join me but she said she was cold.

Richie brought spaghetti sauce and a loaf of bread...really the makings for a whole meal. We'll enjoy that today! As she was leaving I wished her happy 2013 and said we would not be sad to bid adieu to 2012 but later, I thought that's not true. It's been a good year, all in all. Some bad shit, some wonderful stuff. The bad days just make the good ones seem all that much more blissful.

I'm suspecting my crack medical team of giving me bags of saline instead of the real thing. I have hardly any ill effects, which believe me, I am not complaining about but still...what the hell. I've had no nausea and no vomiting. Regis thinks my hair may be starting to give way because he can see some bald spots and my head is very tender. I sleep a lot...most days...and when I need a nap, I need one right this minute. See above.

My cousin Deb, the lefse angel, sent us a package of made from scratch, Vi's recipe lefse. She mailed it on Thursday, two day express through the USPS. Guaranteed two day delivery. It did not arrive Saturday so we expected it yesterday. Our mail usually comes in the late afternoon so Regis thought it was safe to go out for a while in the morning. Sure. Come home to find a note saying sorry we missed you, pick your lefse up on Wednesday.

I marched right down to the PO and of course, there it was. We had to dispatch one bag because it was looking a little gray. The rest appears fine and we can't wait to try it. It's safely in the freezer...never fear.

It's Ella's 7th birthday today! Happy birthday little sunshine of our lives!