Love Gifts and Wellness

I've been feeling for a long time that LOVE is going to make me well. I feel it every time I receive a card or letter, a "checking in" or "how are you?" phone call, or receive some kind of unexpected gift. I have enjoyed visits both planned and surprised, breakfasts out, a drive up Mt. Diablo, friends who never hestitate to say "yes" about taking me to and from chemo and sitting with me during the 5 hour interim. I appreciate all of you more than you know, especially my wonderful family both here and out-of-state.

Well, this week in addition to flowers, beautiful jewelry and fantastic books, I received several more lovely and unexpected gifts, reinforcing my feeling that LOVE will make me well. It has! Even though I have to finish the regimented treatment, my doctor told me that the most recent blood tests show no sign of cancer!! The three "fs" friends, family and faith. That's what did it I'm sure. Here are some photos from this week. I love you. All of you.

No, that is not me. She has hair. These are from my view of the cancer treatment center yesterday. I was inclined so the ceiling was part of the view.Everyone gets treatment together, lined up on both sides of the room and two chairs at the end. I was at the end on the left so it was a good photo op.I hope the lady in orange didn't mind the photo. I didn't notice her looking until I saw the picture.

Beautiful, powerful gifts. My darling Telly made the quilt for me to use during chemo. The blue lobelia flowers are from my friend, Marilyn, who also spent a lot of time planting two flats of petunias in my garden, and the painting is from my friend Kirsten (below).

In honor of Owen's 1st day of kindergarten

Chantel's 1st day of kindergarten and Brandon's 1st day of 3rd grade.Picture day at school. Can you find Chantel? (hint below)

Family Time

John and Nick jammed together the other day. They sound great together.

An attempt at a family photo.

Early morning cartoons. Dennis and Anthony didn't know I was there.

Busted! They found me out.

Sometimes this house is really quiet and I realize then how much I enjoy having family around. Fortunately, the house isn't very quiet very often. These photos are from this past week.

Dancer Dreams, Still

Last semester at Mills in a dance class I discovered not only my core, physically, but a spiritual core related to movement, grace, strength and beauty. Today I started another ballet class at DVC. Mondays and Wednesdays. I stayed after and explained my situation to the instructor, that some weeks I won't be able to make it; she understood and turns out she did her graduate work at Mills so we already have a connection. I'm so looking forward to moving again. There's nothing like dance and what happens spiritually when the body and the soul communicate.

Older and Bolder

The following is meant to be read out loud with a straight face to at least one other person. The first time an older relative read this she said, "Oh, isn't this the cutest thing?" while my sister laughed silently at me beneath arched eyebrows.

Sing Ping Dong Ding Pong

I ‘ll ping a sing

you pong a ding-dong song

ping-pong, ping-pong

little white round balls, and

just our smiles—that’s all

ding a pong-ping sing

ping song-a-dong-song

asingalong!

I’m coming over now

ding-dong ding-dong

Ping Pong?

The Lesson

we morphed through adolescence and sex ed in 45 minutes vaj-eye-na ee-jack-u-late pee-nis and got it when she told us the origin of her name “Twinkle” a metaphor, and laughed out-loud behind our hands don’t tell the boys skipping toward home I remembered I am grown up now and stopped tried to walk like Doris Day in “The Thrill of It All” ur-in-ate (not tt) in-ter-course and, it’s not a doodle testing the new syllables outloud with each step Imusttellmymothereverything always pulling the heavy worn dictionary from the shelf because how could she have known those words my mother having learned them from her mother and her mother before her? I rush in and vocabulary spills like sugar cookies bursting in the vanilla scented kitchen but she turns heat rising slams the oven door and the sound bangs against the window above the lilies in full bloom while she white knuckles the black receiver to call the school no I try not to fall into the chasm in the linoleum take a deep breath will myself to appear to her what I must have been before lunch a vein in her neck bulges beneath the strand of silk pearls my heart thuds against my training bra and finally she replaces the receiver smoothes her apron her face proud that I am such a bright little girl and every day—after that—I walk home and pause at the front door to change my face fold the new one carefully between the clean pages of the crisp black and white text how was school today? she asks fine I answer and bite into a warm oatmeal cookie while she hands me a tall cold glass, of milk

Insomnia

It's coming up on 2:00 am. Can't sleep. Tried prayer and focused breath work, watched a documentary on the Cuban missile crisis of Oct 1962 when I was four, John was nearing open heart surgery, and Rachel was brand new. I channel surfed for over an hour and got to see my favorite scene from Jerry McGuire, but still, sleep alludes me. Marilyn will be here this morning to hang with me for the day. We've been friends for 24 years, since I was pregnant with Clayton. Her visits always ground me and I haven't seen her since graduation. Likely, I'll need a nap at some point, especially if I continue to stay up, since today was busy and productive and I didn't rest at all. But I'm looking forward to being with my dear friend. I should have been asleep by 10:00 tonight.

A loner bong sits here next to me, along with the computer and printer, bills and get well cards, and bottled spring water. I'm to return the bong to its owner when I'm well, or I can keep it "for sentimental reasons" and I just may do that. After all, the first time was hilarious and otherwise, when I'm 80 who will ever really believe me? I suppose I could take a picture of myself...hmmm. Funny, but having cancer has given me permission to disregard (finally) what anyone thinks about me, what I do, how I look, what I wear or don't. Black and shiny, this bong is a large phallic symbol disguised as a car's gear shift, but its a phallic symbol plain and simple. (I'm more aware of these things since attending Mills, an all women's college). I'm tempted to smoke some tonight, but so far I've only used pot during chemo week and not often, although the results have been amazing and terrific, ok'd by my doctor and endorsed by several friends for various reasons. I probably would have tried it anyway unless the doc had warned me of some terrible drug reaction. But when I told him that I had some marijuana and I'd never tried it before, he looked at me and said, "Never? Where were you?" and later I had to admit that back when all my friends were doing it, I was having babies and canning peaches, making quilts, growing a garden, and kneading giant batches of bread dough, long before bread makers had been invented. I didn't miss a thing. Bottom line, I get pain relief and deep sleep when sleep medication and/or pain meds don't do a thing. Tonight, I'm not hurting, at least not physically. I just can't sleep, so writing seems to be the next best thing.

Happy Birthday to my Niece

Is this the sweetest photo or what? Clayton was over the other day to hang out with me and I overheard his mentioning to Rachel how he remembered this photo of Estee and always liked it. Me too. Yesterday was her birthday. Happy Birthday Sweetheart. I hope you ate some cake for me. Ten things I love about you, Estee:

You were my first niece
You laugh at the absurd (really smart people do that)
You are creative and multi-talented (hint: take a piece of string and create something beautiful)
You love your cousins and know a quality aunt when you see one
You like to bake cookies (Someday I will give you my cookie cutter collection; I even have feet that I picked up when I went to Germany)
You are slow to anger
You are patient in adversity
You take on life with courage and determination
You are a devoted family member in every way
You are beautiful

Photos from the Newman Trip

Plants that are under water half time.

Notice the folds in the rocks, almost like melting and the little holes to the right are from tiny whirlpools over time.

The first trip away was really fun. I love seeing new places. I am going to Newman regularly now to do a little work and have a change of scenery (except for chemo weeks when I am down a lot). This trip we spent some time at the San Luis Resevoir and Mike gave Rachel and me a geology lesson. That night we spent time in the pool -- aaahhhhh! So nice. And my first time out without hair. I didn't mind so no one else seemed to either. Not that I would care.

Cruella Deville

For Julie who said that I should stop playing it safe with my writing. That was when she found out that I actually do more poetry writing than non-fiction or fiction. So just for you Jules, here's one based on a childhood event in Memphis:

Cruella Deville

always parked her long menacing car sideways on the un-mown scorch in her yard until the night she lurched into our driveway, rode over my bicycle, the headlights two crazed eyes staring through the walls of our house, pounding her drunken fists against the door, ‘Let me in my house!’ When my father opened the door a shaft of light fell, broke into a thousand tiny pieces on the porch.
That’s when I saw the cracked ochre teeth, the red mercurochrome eyes like the time I skinned both knees, smelled grape vinegar leaking from the ends of her wild, sizzling hair. We huddled in our pajamas against our pure cotton mother who always smelled of lilac and yellow, while my dad stepped easily over the broken shards into the darkness, his voice warm music just like the minister’s on Sundays, to gentle Mrs.Deville across the imaginary line between our yards, the one my brothers dared to cross, press their virgin freckles against the big dirty window, see if Satan owned a color television. After my dad fixed my bike I slid onto the seat, closed my hands around the rubber grips and pushed off, picking up speed the pink and white plastic tassels and long flying hair streaking the sun but it never rode straight after that.

The front tire always wobbled just a little.

A Woman's Influence

The following is from an email I received from an aunt who lives in Tennessee. She gave me permission to post this. My reply follows:

Dear Martha,

I have found your address and even pulled up your blog spot and read with both tears and pride about what you are experiencing. Using a computer is difficult for me and I often delete when I do not mean to. Also, I am totally new to blogs. I sorta of one finger type and have to go back and correct all of the time, so I am slow. But, I am overwhelmed by all that computers offer.

Back to you, what an inspiration you are and what courage you are showing. You look adorable in the wig, too. I always keep you and little Andrew in my prayers. You could not know this, but I have always prayed for Anne and all of you children for years. I am sorry that I have not gotten to know all of you and that you really do not know much about me. But, you may be sure that I have been impressed with all of you and what wonderful people you are. Your father would be so proud of you for he loved you all very much. I do hope that this reaches you as I often get messages returned. This building has poor cable connections and, recently, my carrier was changed. Now that I know how to get your blog, I'll check it frequently and continue my prayers for God's all encompassing love to surround you and your family and restore you to health of mind, body and spirit.

Love, Aunt Claire

Dear Aunt Claire and other readers,

We left Memphis and all family on both sides when I was ten years old and moved to Kansas City. There would be thirteen more moves during the next four years. At sixteen I married and put all my energy into creating and maintaining my own family. My other siblings were scattered, living in other states, but all on the west coast. Eventually I ended up doing what many people were doing in the 80's, and going for psychotherapy. During one visit I realized with clarity that I needed to go home again. It had been almost 30 years. My sister Rachel went with me and we spent a lot of time prior to the trip talking about our excitement and our fears. Aunt Claire you couldn't have known that I was the most nervous about your approval of me. Would I still have manners? Would I act like a lady? Would I be the same Martha that you remembered?

Well, now it's my turn to tell you that even though I loved all my aunts and uncles, you are the one woman I admired and respected the most and I still do. Especially now, when I feel the cruelty of facing cancer alone, I remember that you were widowed and raised two children alone during a time when women had to fight for their right to independence. You were the one who determined your own boundaries and lived by them. Even though you must have shed many tears alone, you are one of the strongest women I know and your example has given me strength and courage.

Since that first visit in 1987, my siblings and I have made other trips home, separately and together, and we've been able to reconnect with family including Uncle Don (now the family patriarch) and numerous cousins. Sometimes I wonder if my life journey will send me back to my roots in a more permanent way. My thoughts these days are never far from my childhood--barbeques in Aunt Claire's backyard with my dad at the grill, chasing fireflies, the giant hydrangea bush next to Granny's back porch, Pop in his rocker with his pipe and the smell of pipe smoke that I love to this day.

Aunt Claire, thank you for your constant love and prayers for us all these years. It's an honor to call you mine and I look forward our next family reunion in Florida. Love, Martha