Such a great long weekend, I feel like I’ve been on vacation. Yeah, I should’ve worked on my taxes and attended to myriad other things, but I slept late, I relaxed, I watched movies, I could use another few days, but at least I feel more prepared for the waiting chaos of the week.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Star Trek!
Oh Iron Man, poor, poor Iron Man. I thought you were the perfect summer movie, but then I went to Star Trek. A tad iron fisted with the sentimentality, originally so subtle and beautiful between Kirk and Spock, but no less meaningful, maybe more so for the subtlety, and this new Uhura is irritating, they should have kept it at flirtation between her and Spock, but despite these criticisms, Star Trek is still getting a perfect 10. What else can you give a movie that makes you repeatedly laugh out loud, spontaneously start clapping, and gasp out loud over and over. I was a grinning idiot through the whole movie. I sat on the edge of my seat with an idiot grin on my face almost from start to finish. My few other complaints I’m flushing down the toilet, I’m still giving it a ten because Griffin loved it too and we just plain had a great time and if previously mentioned ticket prices weren’t so damned high, I’d go see it again and again.
Such a great long weekend, I feel like I’ve been on vacation. Yeah, I should’ve worked on my taxes and attended to myriad other things, but I slept late, I relaxed, I watched movies, I could use another few days, but at least I feel more prepared for the waiting chaos of the week.
Such a great long weekend, I feel like I’ve been on vacation. Yeah, I should’ve worked on my taxes and attended to myriad other things, but I slept late, I relaxed, I watched movies, I could use another few days, but at least I feel more prepared for the waiting chaos of the week.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Data
When a great big bag of money falls from the sky and drops in my lap I’m going to go to Wildflour Café every day to have a shot of wheatgrass juice, a cup of my favorite IRIE english breakfast tea {probably a baked good} and then get a green smoothie to go. I’ve got to learn the art of the green smoothie, because while healthful, mine look and smell like sludge. The one’s at Wildflour or that my friend and smoothie-mentor J makes are so fresh and delicious. It’s my overzealousness, I figure if I’ve got the blender out, just throw in as much as possible and more, evidently isn’t always better, I just can't seem to stop myself.
This is the first unscheduled weekend I’ve had since last October. My store is closed for the season, so I don’t have to work on Saturday’s until reopening and the boys are at their dad’s for the long weekend, having left yesterday at noon. I had such a peaceful day yesterday, lingered at Wildflour with a friend which is why it’s on my mind, came home and got some work done at a nice leisurely clip, got to return email and make a phone call or two, such a luxury. Then I went to see Iron Man because it was the perfect moment for some good, mindless, entertainment and I’m giving it 4.75 stars out of five which is a very good score, an excellent score. It lost points because I wanted the last line of the movie to have one word exchanged for another, and it’s a big swap, so I can’t let it go, but am not offering spoilers because I don’t want to get yelled at. I love a spoiler, but I’ve not ever, ever, met anyone else that does, so I'm zipping it. This is the perfect date movie to go to with your kids if you have them, unfortunately, my little dude didn’t want to see it “sorry mom, just not my thing.” I’m seeing Star Trek tomorrow with the tall one, so I went to Iron Man on my own, figure he’ll want to see it with friends. Iron Man, has top notch explosions and sound effects, plenty of pithy Tony Stark moments, and does what it’s supposed to do, lives within it’s genre quite well. Quality, mindless entertainment is fairly elusive, so I really enjoy it when I see it, The Avengers made me want to cry... too loud, too frenetic, didn’t make sense, poor writing, I just hated it, hated it. I’d go see Iron Man again, and yeah, I’ll say it, Robert Downey Jr. is just adorable, I’d like one of those to go, please. Every time I go to the movies, I feel like the old lady who carries on about how a loaf of bread used to be a nickel. Movies were well under $5 for so long, I never got over the trauma and outrage of them breaking the five dollar mark and now the price goes up every ten minutes. $12 for a movie used to be what a big stadium concert cost, but as they’re now hundreds of dollars I guess it’s proportional, except then why hasn’t the minimum wage quadrupled as well? It really is hard to keep up, something’s gotta give, something’s gonna give, just not sure what or when.
Today I’m moving slowly, not running around like a lunatic, breathing, breathing, I need this weekend, I’m grateful for it. In other topical news, my nails are looking good, but my hair is going afro and I’m not comfortable with that... it needs to start thinking vertical growth, not horizontal or spherical, this curly hair business is just foreign to me. I should be doing my taxes right now... yep, still haven’t done my taxes. That’s misleading, I don’t even do them, it’s too complicated when you’re self-employed, I just have to prepare my stuff for the accountant and I’m way overdue, but as you can see, they're not getting done.
Instead, I'm pondering of the genius of my local utility as I've been doing all week. No one I’ve talked to, the neighbors I've accosted, are as impressed by this as I am. The utility company is sending out graphs and numbers telling you how much energy your household is using compared to 100 of your neighbors with similar sized homes that also use natural gas for heat. Although come to think of it, I’m assuming they’re also including electrical usage in that number as it’s the same utility. Anyway, I’m #36 out of 100 in usage which isn’t really that good, when you consider that only three people live here and I’m competitive, a lot of people are competitive, so they’re finally appealing to our basic instincts to get us to conserve, making us want to win. And damn it, it’s working for me, I want to improve my number. I am well aware of conservation and trying to use less energy, but when I see that number in black and white, it makes me want to do better. It’s a fine, brilliant, simple strategy that I would think would be a wakeup call to anyone near the bottom of the list. I would feel awful if compared to 100 neighbors I was #100, using the most energy. At the same time, I'm relieved, because my house isn't insulated and I always worry I'm using an outrageous amount of energy to keep warm, and I was genuinely surprised to not be inhabiting the bottom of the list. You know, I don’t really see a lot of truly smart advertising or public awareness campaigns, this one really surprised me with it’s brilliant simplicity, awesome use of data, I love data.
Wouldn't it be great to get all sorts of data mailed to you like this? Compared to 100 similar families, how do I rank parentally? Care and feeding? Nurturing? Request further categories. As a friend, how do I rank in terms of consideration, supportive, fun to be with? I'd get killed on the remembers birthdays category, but I'd do well with spontaneous gift giving and last minute planning. Draining and burdensome? How about a partner rating or first date rating, so you could know how you're doing, feel proud of your accomplishments or know what to work on. Oh, I'd feel so much better to know I was in say the top 50% of the care and feeding category, but I think the feeding of the tall one might do me in, statistically speaking anyway. Data, yes, life would be simpler with defined parameters and useful data. Oh wait a minute... I guess that would only be fun if we got to define the parameters, oh mercy, what if the tea party was setting the yardstick, o.k., maybe this isn't such a good idea after all, although I'm still giving three cheers to National Grid.
Wouldn't it be great to get all sorts of data mailed to you like this? Compared to 100 similar families, how do I rank parentally? Care and feeding? Nurturing? Request further categories. As a friend, how do I rank in terms of consideration, supportive, fun to be with? I'd get killed on the remembers birthdays category, but I'd do well with spontaneous gift giving and last minute planning. Draining and burdensome? How about a partner rating or first date rating, so you could know how you're doing, feel proud of your accomplishments or know what to work on. Oh, I'd feel so much better to know I was in say the top 50% of the care and feeding category, but I think the feeding of the tall one might do me in, statistically speaking anyway. Data, yes, life would be simpler with defined parameters and useful data. Oh wait a minute... I guess that would only be fun if we got to define the parameters, oh mercy, what if the tea party was setting the yardstick, o.k., maybe this isn't such a good idea after all, although I'm still giving three cheers to National Grid.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Out of Alignment
It finally seems to be spring, I’m so happy to be warm, but thus far my spring has been a tiny bit more fraught than I’d expected. I’ve been so focused on cancer and healthy eating, myriad medical appointments, and all that, I forgot that I have a bad back. That three years ago, I had to be hauled, hallucinating in pain, out of my own bed by a throng of paramedics with dirty shoes, having torn two discs in my back innocuously lifting a printer. Apparently, it’s best not to lift anything heavy in the morning, seriously, I forget technically why, but it’s true. I was amazed how quickly I healed, going from crippled to just fine in 6-8 weeks with proper rehab. I’ve had a few minor reinjuries since then, because I forget about it and lift something too heavy or do so improperly, forgetting to stay aligned, but it’s not been a big deal. My back is the last thing on my mind, so as I was grilling dinner a couple of weeks ago, I was weed diving, wrestling with bittersweet root and those pesky weed maple’s, and I was definitely not aligned. Didn’t need the paramedics, but am back at the spine center twice a week and being very careful to heal and not reinjure, so I’m watching the weeds grow taller than my flowers while I stand by helplessly. I don’t like being helpless and it’s amazing how a back injury affects morale, it just makes me feel so breakable and frail, so stiff and unbendable. I like to feel bendable.
I am obsessed with decluttering and purging my perennially cluttered house, I can feel the mess in the basement and hovering over me in the attic. Despite countless bags of trash leaving the premises, even more bags going to Big Sisters, 6 packed shopping bags of books going to a fine place that redistributes them, the house is as cluttered as ever. You’d think I like clutter or don’t notice it, but I do notice it and I don’t like it, I just seem powerless over it. I’ve been purging the boys drawers and closets and have reached my own. Yesterday I filled a bag with some of my favorite, tried and true summer dresses, they all have pleats up top, breast pleats that upon trying on, hung sadly, empty, lonely, and as strapping on a false pair seems way too alien I packed them up for goodwill, no need to leave them, pretending they'll fit again. It’s not like believing you’ll lose the weight and those jeans will fit, no delusion possible. I was going to give some to friends I thought would like them, but then I realized they’d be no ordinary hand-me-downs and maybe we’d all be best served by them going anonymously to Big Sisters. There is a shop/gallery in my neighborhood that’s been taunting me with the perfect dress, right smack in the window. It’s made from a fabric I love, it’s a 1950ish atomic-type pattern with a wide collar {my favorite and hard to find}, big shiny buttons down the front and fits me perfectly, except for the damned darts. I love t his dress so much I asked them to contact the maker in N.Y. to see if they’d make one for me sans darts, but alas, no, they couldn’t. Every day I see that dress and it breaks my heart each and every time. In truth, I can’t really afford it and don’t particularly have anywhere special to wear it, but it’s just so perfect and beautiful and me in every way, or the way I was which I forget is not the way I am, in age, as well.
I know it’s really important to stay at an optimal body weight and not gain after treatment and yet I’ve gained 15 lbs. since then, and in between green smoothies and gulping handfuls of supplements, I’m mindlessly eating junk food, sugar, sugar, my life-long nemesis. I resolve to stop now, there I’ve said it and that will make it so. No more malted milk balls, brownie sundaes despite how happy my kids are when I make them or chocolate cake, I’ll have to find another pick-me-up. Do you hear that self?... it stops now.
Life’s been hectic, I’ve gotten myself in over my head with a fundraising effort for tall one’s football team. Not getting the promised help, and participation expected when I was asked to do this and for weeks have turned into the crazy lady selling raffle tickets on street corners, while my son is out and about, or bailing on me because his allergies are acting up. I’m tired of toting around raffle tickets and going to fundraising meetings on my only free evening. Last night the boy asked me if I can pick him up from a 3-day, not inexpensive, football scouting camp at Boston College, in June {ill-advised, as school is still in session}, drive him back to Providence for the Senior graduation ceremony and then straight back to Boston College. I couldn’t even respond, my brain started spinning and feeling incoherent, I just laid my head on the table whimpering and then said “no, no I really, really can’t... spend eight hours driving back and forth to Boston in one day because you want to keep your perfect streak of never missing out on anything you want to do. It’s my own fault, saying no hasn't been my specialty. Then we had to discuss the next week after that, when I’ll have to pick him up from Camp Counselor Training Week to take him back to school for his last final and then back to camp again, add the two together and my eyeballs were rolling around in their sockets unable to focus. What’s wrong with this picture? Modern life, and I consider ours fairly unscheduled... is insane. And yes, I partially blame you Providence Public School System for not doing a better job scheduling... too many days off and so we end way too late.
Little Boy’s been home sick all week, that strange, kinda sick, then not sick, then kind of. Can’t ignore the coming and going low grade fever and intermittent cough, but then he seems fine, and then not, and each day I think he’ll go back to school, but then not and I’m cancelling one appointment after the next in this, that was to be my catch-up-on-everything week.
I just had to break the news to him that his dad was picking him up today and as it does of late, it made him angry, made him collapse in a heap. I don’t know what’s going on with those two and I don’t know how to fix it. Then I realize it’s not mine to fix although this is my child, and so I am inherently involved. It is my problem, but not my problem, boundaries are difficult. I know that it is in his best interest to have a good relationship with his father, and I know his father loves him and means well, but those two just don’t get each other on some level that seems to be escalating. Or maybe it’s his delayed reaction to the cancer, doesn’t want to be apart from me. He used to be fine going to his dad’s as long as it wasn’t too much, our schedule is wed. nights and every other weekend which starts late morning saturday, so doable, right? He was fine with this, he left willingly and cheerfully, but the past couple of months he reacts worse and worse to news of the “schedule”. Now he’s taking it out on me, he gets angry, my chipper little love bug says I don’t care about him and hides under a blanket wailing “everything is terrible” which breaks my heart. Yeah, I know, he’s manipulating me, but it still hurts, hurts me to the core, it makes me nauseous, but I don’t give in, I can’t, a deal is a deal and his father should have time with him, and, uh, I need to get out of the freaking house every once in a while and it really is only once in a while.
So it’s spring, but thus far not feeling very springy. Things will flip on a dime, I know it. I think I’m as burnt out on the school year, the sports year, as the kids are. Well tall one’s not burnt out on the sports, he’s planning for playoffs, I’m planning for over. Ready for summer, ready for a new routine. Ready to stop having thoughts like -- stop wasting your time being stressed, this could be your last spring, you never know... back to cancer, so insidious, it’s always there, I really feel like my body is free of cancer, but it’s there like a ghost, haunting every thought. I want to go back to the beach, I want to go back on vacation.
I am obsessed with decluttering and purging my perennially cluttered house, I can feel the mess in the basement and hovering over me in the attic. Despite countless bags of trash leaving the premises, even more bags going to Big Sisters, 6 packed shopping bags of books going to a fine place that redistributes them, the house is as cluttered as ever. You’d think I like clutter or don’t notice it, but I do notice it and I don’t like it, I just seem powerless over it. I’ve been purging the boys drawers and closets and have reached my own. Yesterday I filled a bag with some of my favorite, tried and true summer dresses, they all have pleats up top, breast pleats that upon trying on, hung sadly, empty, lonely, and as strapping on a false pair seems way too alien I packed them up for goodwill, no need to leave them, pretending they'll fit again. It’s not like believing you’ll lose the weight and those jeans will fit, no delusion possible. I was going to give some to friends I thought would like them, but then I realized they’d be no ordinary hand-me-downs and maybe we’d all be best served by them going anonymously to Big Sisters. There is a shop/gallery in my neighborhood that’s been taunting me with the perfect dress, right smack in the window. It’s made from a fabric I love, it’s a 1950ish atomic-type pattern with a wide collar {my favorite and hard to find}, big shiny buttons down the front and fits me perfectly, except for the damned darts. I love t his dress so much I asked them to contact the maker in N.Y. to see if they’d make one for me sans darts, but alas, no, they couldn’t. Every day I see that dress and it breaks my heart each and every time. In truth, I can’t really afford it and don’t particularly have anywhere special to wear it, but it’s just so perfect and beautiful and me in every way, or the way I was which I forget is not the way I am, in age, as well.
I know it’s really important to stay at an optimal body weight and not gain after treatment and yet I’ve gained 15 lbs. since then, and in between green smoothies and gulping handfuls of supplements, I’m mindlessly eating junk food, sugar, sugar, my life-long nemesis. I resolve to stop now, there I’ve said it and that will make it so. No more malted milk balls, brownie sundaes despite how happy my kids are when I make them or chocolate cake, I’ll have to find another pick-me-up. Do you hear that self?... it stops now.
Life’s been hectic, I’ve gotten myself in over my head with a fundraising effort for tall one’s football team. Not getting the promised help, and participation expected when I was asked to do this and for weeks have turned into the crazy lady selling raffle tickets on street corners, while my son is out and about, or bailing on me because his allergies are acting up. I’m tired of toting around raffle tickets and going to fundraising meetings on my only free evening. Last night the boy asked me if I can pick him up from a 3-day, not inexpensive, football scouting camp at Boston College, in June {ill-advised, as school is still in session}, drive him back to Providence for the Senior graduation ceremony and then straight back to Boston College. I couldn’t even respond, my brain started spinning and feeling incoherent, I just laid my head on the table whimpering and then said “no, no I really, really can’t... spend eight hours driving back and forth to Boston in one day because you want to keep your perfect streak of never missing out on anything you want to do. It’s my own fault, saying no hasn't been my specialty. Then we had to discuss the next week after that, when I’ll have to pick him up from Camp Counselor Training Week to take him back to school for his last final and then back to camp again, add the two together and my eyeballs were rolling around in their sockets unable to focus. What’s wrong with this picture? Modern life, and I consider ours fairly unscheduled... is insane. And yes, I partially blame you Providence Public School System for not doing a better job scheduling... too many days off and so we end way too late.
Little Boy’s been home sick all week, that strange, kinda sick, then not sick, then kind of. Can’t ignore the coming and going low grade fever and intermittent cough, but then he seems fine, and then not, and each day I think he’ll go back to school, but then not and I’m cancelling one appointment after the next in this, that was to be my catch-up-on-everything week.
I just had to break the news to him that his dad was picking him up today and as it does of late, it made him angry, made him collapse in a heap. I don’t know what’s going on with those two and I don’t know how to fix it. Then I realize it’s not mine to fix although this is my child, and so I am inherently involved. It is my problem, but not my problem, boundaries are difficult. I know that it is in his best interest to have a good relationship with his father, and I know his father loves him and means well, but those two just don’t get each other on some level that seems to be escalating. Or maybe it’s his delayed reaction to the cancer, doesn’t want to be apart from me. He used to be fine going to his dad’s as long as it wasn’t too much, our schedule is wed. nights and every other weekend which starts late morning saturday, so doable, right? He was fine with this, he left willingly and cheerfully, but the past couple of months he reacts worse and worse to news of the “schedule”. Now he’s taking it out on me, he gets angry, my chipper little love bug says I don’t care about him and hides under a blanket wailing “everything is terrible” which breaks my heart. Yeah, I know, he’s manipulating me, but it still hurts, hurts me to the core, it makes me nauseous, but I don’t give in, I can’t, a deal is a deal and his father should have time with him, and, uh, I need to get out of the freaking house every once in a while and it really is only once in a while.
So it’s spring, but thus far not feeling very springy. Things will flip on a dime, I know it. I think I’m as burnt out on the school year, the sports year, as the kids are. Well tall one’s not burnt out on the sports, he’s planning for playoffs, I’m planning for over. Ready for summer, ready for a new routine. Ready to stop having thoughts like -- stop wasting your time being stressed, this could be your last spring, you never know... back to cancer, so insidious, it’s always there, I really feel like my body is free of cancer, but it’s there like a ghost, haunting every thought. I want to go back to the beach, I want to go back on vacation.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Treacherous Toes
People keep asking me what I think about Angelina Jolie. At first I didn’t know what they meant, but after being referred to her New York Time’s Editorial, I suppose I should have an opinion, but I’m drawing a blank, I don’t really think much of anything about it at all. I’m sick of our celebrity culture, I guess that’s what I think. The BRCA1 gene mutation sucks, and it’s becoming more and more common for women who carry it, and who’s female family members have been decimated by it, to have preventative mastectomies. I think Angelina made a smart decision, an agonizing choice that some unlucky women are faced with, but heroic? Nothing heroic about wanting to save your own life. Nothing heroic about wanting to avoid cancer and it’s aftermath. Heroic I suppose, would be getting a double mastectomy so someone else wouldn't get sick or donating a kidney, or running into a burning building to save a stranger. Self preservation isn't heroic, it's instinct.
I’m glad Angelina was back to life as normal in only a few days, but I suppose that’s easier when that normal life includes drivers, cooks, nanny’s and housekeepers, not to mention a devoted partner holding her hand without needing to request time off from work, paid or otherwise.
Nice to afford the type of concierge medical treatment she can afford. The BRCA test costs well over $3,000 and women who suspect they have the gene often can’t afford it and the reason it’s so expensive is that the gene is patented and controlled by a single company, as is all of the information regarding it. So if you want to go for a second opinion about the interpretation of your results, too bad, it’s profit-based information which is kind of mind-blowing. I think there should be an editorial about that. I think we should all get to write editorials for the New York Time's whenever we feel like it and have them unquestioningly published.
I looked at the website of the clinic Angelina was treated at which she was allowed to mention and advertise in her editorial, and under the “Nutritional” heading it states “Up to one third of all breast cancer is the result of poor dietary and lifestyle choices. Overweight or obese women, for instance, have twice the breast cancer recurrence and death risk.” This is just not true and I’m stunned that a reputable medical facility would preach such damaging misinformation, especially one getting free publicity from Angelina Jolie. Poor dietary and lifestyle choices can, in fact, increase one’s chances of developing cancer, but I’ve read or heard nothing, nothing, like the statistic of one third of breast cancer being a result of lifestyle choices and many lifestyles are not choices, organic food is expensive and geographically inaccessible to many people, but hey, let's blame the victim. I’m sure the environment plays a large part in growing cancer cases, but that’s not a lifestyle choice, we can’t choose the air we breathe or know what's going on in our groundwater. We knowingly build elementary schools on sites of former toxic waste dumps, who knows what we don’t know. I have to quote Dick Cheney here, something I never {ever} thought I'd do, there are knowns and there are unknowns and then there are the unknown, unknowns. Everyone mocked Dick for this, and god knows he's mockable, actually, Dick Cheney is not funny, he's just too scary to be funny, but this was actually a good quote, I love this quote. Back on point, while I have read that maintaining a healthy body weight and/or not gaining weight after treatment {argh, which I'm not doing} is slightly correlated with a better outcome, it’s barely mentioned by most western doctors, also inexplicable. Being overweight does not double one’s chance of survival, that’s just preposterous, oh that it were so simple. So I guess that’s all I have to say on that. Except that having surgery preventatively, gave her the option of “nipple sparing” surgery, so she’ll wind up with breasts looking very much like other Hollywood breasts, the breasts she would have likely ended up with regardless. I think Angelina will be just fine, in fact, I think Angelina will be more than fine.
Back here in the real world, I’ve been busy with getting the kids down the end of school year homestretch and we’re all pretty burnt out and I'm never, ever volunteering to do fundraising again. Since my first mani/pedi, I’ve become obsessed with nail polish. 49 years of bare nails and now I feel naked without nail polish, explain that. My glorious blue sky blue enamel, slowly chipped away and I aimed to choose a springy tangerine as it’s replacement, but wound up with traffic cone orange instead, which by the end of the day, I loathed enough to make a 9p.m. trip to CVS for nail supplies. I removed the nail polish and went back to my blue which is delights me still and again, but damn, doing your own nails is hard, what a mess, I had to try three times and that stuff stinks, can’t be healthy. So the toes, I just covered with a layer of what I thought was deep pink, but is the deepest scarlet. They don’t suit me, they look like scheming, untrustworthy toes. I explained this to Jonah and he said “you know... I’m inclined to agree.” What other twelve year old boy would understand that, my boy is right, we are two peas in a pod, we just get each other. Since I’m busy and tired, I’m stuck with treacherous toes for a while. Clearly, the girly nails are compensating for the loss of other girlie parts, I think instead of forcing everyone needing a mastectomy to consult with a plastic surgeon, pushing the sacks of saline, they should just recommend a manicure. Hey, there's another item that should be in the cancer goody-bag, coupons for free mani/pedi's {for life}, that would go a long way and really save the insurance companies a fortune. My shop closed for the season, abruptly ending my cash flow, so unlike Angelina, I can’t keep going for mani/pedi’s even on discount Wednesday. So for now, I'll dwell in the minutia of nail color and cleaning off my porch and feeding my children. Sometimes the minutia is better than the big picture.
I’m glad Angelina was back to life as normal in only a few days, but I suppose that’s easier when that normal life includes drivers, cooks, nanny’s and housekeepers, not to mention a devoted partner holding her hand without needing to request time off from work, paid or otherwise.
Nice to afford the type of concierge medical treatment she can afford. The BRCA test costs well over $3,000 and women who suspect they have the gene often can’t afford it and the reason it’s so expensive is that the gene is patented and controlled by a single company, as is all of the information regarding it. So if you want to go for a second opinion about the interpretation of your results, too bad, it’s profit-based information which is kind of mind-blowing. I think there should be an editorial about that. I think we should all get to write editorials for the New York Time's whenever we feel like it and have them unquestioningly published.
I looked at the website of the clinic Angelina was treated at which she was allowed to mention and advertise in her editorial, and under the “Nutritional” heading it states “Up to one third of all breast cancer is the result of poor dietary and lifestyle choices. Overweight or obese women, for instance, have twice the breast cancer recurrence and death risk.” This is just not true and I’m stunned that a reputable medical facility would preach such damaging misinformation, especially one getting free publicity from Angelina Jolie. Poor dietary and lifestyle choices can, in fact, increase one’s chances of developing cancer, but I’ve read or heard nothing, nothing, like the statistic of one third of breast cancer being a result of lifestyle choices and many lifestyles are not choices, organic food is expensive and geographically inaccessible to many people, but hey, let's blame the victim. I’m sure the environment plays a large part in growing cancer cases, but that’s not a lifestyle choice, we can’t choose the air we breathe or know what's going on in our groundwater. We knowingly build elementary schools on sites of former toxic waste dumps, who knows what we don’t know. I have to quote Dick Cheney here, something I never {ever} thought I'd do, there are knowns and there are unknowns and then there are the unknown, unknowns. Everyone mocked Dick for this, and god knows he's mockable, actually, Dick Cheney is not funny, he's just too scary to be funny, but this was actually a good quote, I love this quote. Back on point, while I have read that maintaining a healthy body weight and/or not gaining weight after treatment {argh, which I'm not doing} is slightly correlated with a better outcome, it’s barely mentioned by most western doctors, also inexplicable. Being overweight does not double one’s chance of survival, that’s just preposterous, oh that it were so simple. So I guess that’s all I have to say on that. Except that having surgery preventatively, gave her the option of “nipple sparing” surgery, so she’ll wind up with breasts looking very much like other Hollywood breasts, the breasts she would have likely ended up with regardless. I think Angelina will be just fine, in fact, I think Angelina will be more than fine.
Back here in the real world, I’ve been busy with getting the kids down the end of school year homestretch and we’re all pretty burnt out and I'm never, ever volunteering to do fundraising again. Since my first mani/pedi, I’ve become obsessed with nail polish. 49 years of bare nails and now I feel naked without nail polish, explain that. My glorious blue sky blue enamel, slowly chipped away and I aimed to choose a springy tangerine as it’s replacement, but wound up with traffic cone orange instead, which by the end of the day, I loathed enough to make a 9p.m. trip to CVS for nail supplies. I removed the nail polish and went back to my blue which is delights me still and again, but damn, doing your own nails is hard, what a mess, I had to try three times and that stuff stinks, can’t be healthy. So the toes, I just covered with a layer of what I thought was deep pink, but is the deepest scarlet. They don’t suit me, they look like scheming, untrustworthy toes. I explained this to Jonah and he said “you know... I’m inclined to agree.” What other twelve year old boy would understand that, my boy is right, we are two peas in a pod, we just get each other. Since I’m busy and tired, I’m stuck with treacherous toes for a while. Clearly, the girly nails are compensating for the loss of other girlie parts, I think instead of forcing everyone needing a mastectomy to consult with a plastic surgeon, pushing the sacks of saline, they should just recommend a manicure. Hey, there's another item that should be in the cancer goody-bag, coupons for free mani/pedi's {for life}, that would go a long way and really save the insurance companies a fortune. My shop closed for the season, abruptly ending my cash flow, so unlike Angelina, I can’t keep going for mani/pedi’s even on discount Wednesday. So for now, I'll dwell in the minutia of nail color and cleaning off my porch and feeding my children. Sometimes the minutia is better than the big picture.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Deep Green Sea & Blue Sky Days
I’m sitting on my porch, it’s warm with a cool breeze, the sky is a rich perfect blue. The porch is dirty and messy, but is confident in it’s potential, it knows I have plans for it and will soon be the master room of the house after a long winter of neglect. I’ve got some potted plants out on the rails, the glorious Martha Washington Geranium I successfully wintered over indoors and it’s offspring which I’ve transplanted to it’s own pot. Martha Washington kept my spirits up all winter and if her baby thrives it will be a good omen. Despite my best intentions, I’m unreliable and don’t have the greenest thumb. I’ve got pots of basil and wheatgrass going, to which I’ll add parsley, the first and last for green smoothies and the basil for tomatoes. I’ve already hurt my back gardening, diving recklessly for weeds.
There’s a long, wide bookcase cluttering things up since I rescued it from the trash last year, it weighs a ton, and has seen better days, but I’m hoping to paint it this spring and bring it into the living room, so I can sell the behemoth antique, mahogany piece that came with the house which I’ve grown to loathe. It’s not my style and I feel like an idiot for actually buying it, but when I bought the house I was feeling nostalgic for the three spinster sisters who lived most of their lives here. I felt like if their ghosts came for a visit, the place should still feel a bit familiar, thing is, I don’t really believe in ghosts. It’s the damned furniture that’s been haunting me.
This is the first chance I’ve had to write about our vacation, it’s been several turns of the dial past hectic since I came back, but there is still a part of me relaxed and transformed by the trip.
We had a long travel day down, exiting the baggage claim at 9:30 p.m. greeted by gusts of hot, muggy air, jarring at first, but feeling good immediately. I took off my sweatshirt and socks and got in the car for the hour ride to our condo and the sound of beach from the screened porch.
Next day, after lounging under an umbrella for a bit, I got up and walked straight into the water. It was chilly, but I decided not to feel it, so I kept going, past where the waves were breaking, to the calm water and I laid on my back, arms outstretched {yes, like jesus}, and just floated. Floated and floated in the green water, and when I opened my eyes I could see my blue toenails segue perfectly into the blue sky. Perfect moment. It was just like I imagined all those times in the chemo chair, huddled under blankets, shivering, hurting, feeling sick, wanting to climb out of my own skin. I just floated, feeling warm currents alternating with colder ones and back to warm, the sun on my face, floating, effortlessly, no body to feel, just the warmth and the water.
That’s pretty much what I did every day. I felt calm and peaceful and still do. The boys had fun, we ate fish for dinner and ice cream and I had cold beer after a long ride on the wagon, which tasted really, really good. The shells were addicting, I couldn’t stop picking them up and they’re in endless supply. I got up early and walked on the beach alone, 2 hours passing like 20 minutes. One night I went for a nocturnal walk with my sister-in-law and we got lost, very lost on the pitch black, moonless beach. I was excited to be having an adventure, we walked, and walked and walked and finally found our way off the beach onto the one road on the island, sans street lights, also crazy dark. No one seemed to have lights on and we realized that we were where we had driven for dinner. I have no idea how we got that far and we discovered we are equally navigationally impaired, so naturally we started walking in the wrong direction. Finally we heard soft voices from a porch, so we went up and knocked, and a sweet pair of Swedish cousins, offered us beer, bananas and the use of the gps on their phone to point us on the right course. I was exhausted, but just so glad to be doing something out of the ordinary.
We went on a dolphin cruise and got splashed by dolphin water which has only intensified my new fixation on dolphins, and my irrational belief that if I hug a dolphin I’ll be healed. This is more unlike me than I can say, but it’s true, I believe this. I decided this just before we went to Florida and I was perfectly convinced that while swimming a dolphin was going to come up and nuzzle me. At least, as a good friend points out, It’s only dolphins, not mermaids I’ve become fixated on... at least they actually exist. Seriously though, I’m going to find a place where you can swim with dolphins, can’t explain it, I just need to swim with a dolphin.
Four days is too short for a vacation. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum at the airport on the way home, dig in my heels and scream, “I’m not going.” Alas, I knew that wasn’t going to get me anywhere but ridiculous, so I got on the plane and came home. I finally understand why people go on vacation. I’m sad I haven’t travelled in my life, I’m sad my kids don’t have family vacations to look back on, but there’s no point looking back, forward is the only direction we get to go and hopefully we get to keep going until we’re done.
There’s a long, wide bookcase cluttering things up since I rescued it from the trash last year, it weighs a ton, and has seen better days, but I’m hoping to paint it this spring and bring it into the living room, so I can sell the behemoth antique, mahogany piece that came with the house which I’ve grown to loathe. It’s not my style and I feel like an idiot for actually buying it, but when I bought the house I was feeling nostalgic for the three spinster sisters who lived most of their lives here. I felt like if their ghosts came for a visit, the place should still feel a bit familiar, thing is, I don’t really believe in ghosts. It’s the damned furniture that’s been haunting me.
This is the first chance I’ve had to write about our vacation, it’s been several turns of the dial past hectic since I came back, but there is still a part of me relaxed and transformed by the trip.
We had a long travel day down, exiting the baggage claim at 9:30 p.m. greeted by gusts of hot, muggy air, jarring at first, but feeling good immediately. I took off my sweatshirt and socks and got in the car for the hour ride to our condo and the sound of beach from the screened porch.
Next day, after lounging under an umbrella for a bit, I got up and walked straight into the water. It was chilly, but I decided not to feel it, so I kept going, past where the waves were breaking, to the calm water and I laid on my back, arms outstretched {yes, like jesus}, and just floated. Floated and floated in the green water, and when I opened my eyes I could see my blue toenails segue perfectly into the blue sky. Perfect moment. It was just like I imagined all those times in the chemo chair, huddled under blankets, shivering, hurting, feeling sick, wanting to climb out of my own skin. I just floated, feeling warm currents alternating with colder ones and back to warm, the sun on my face, floating, effortlessly, no body to feel, just the warmth and the water.
That’s pretty much what I did every day. I felt calm and peaceful and still do. The boys had fun, we ate fish for dinner and ice cream and I had cold beer after a long ride on the wagon, which tasted really, really good. The shells were addicting, I couldn’t stop picking them up and they’re in endless supply. I got up early and walked on the beach alone, 2 hours passing like 20 minutes. One night I went for a nocturnal walk with my sister-in-law and we got lost, very lost on the pitch black, moonless beach. I was excited to be having an adventure, we walked, and walked and walked and finally found our way off the beach onto the one road on the island, sans street lights, also crazy dark. No one seemed to have lights on and we realized that we were where we had driven for dinner. I have no idea how we got that far and we discovered we are equally navigationally impaired, so naturally we started walking in the wrong direction. Finally we heard soft voices from a porch, so we went up and knocked, and a sweet pair of Swedish cousins, offered us beer, bananas and the use of the gps on their phone to point us on the right course. I was exhausted, but just so glad to be doing something out of the ordinary.
We went on a dolphin cruise and got splashed by dolphin water which has only intensified my new fixation on dolphins, and my irrational belief that if I hug a dolphin I’ll be healed. This is more unlike me than I can say, but it’s true, I believe this. I decided this just before we went to Florida and I was perfectly convinced that while swimming a dolphin was going to come up and nuzzle me. At least, as a good friend points out, It’s only dolphins, not mermaids I’ve become fixated on... at least they actually exist. Seriously though, I’m going to find a place where you can swim with dolphins, can’t explain it, I just need to swim with a dolphin.
Four days is too short for a vacation. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum at the airport on the way home, dig in my heels and scream, “I’m not going.” Alas, I knew that wasn’t going to get me anywhere but ridiculous, so I got on the plane and came home. I finally understand why people go on vacation. I’m sad I haven’t travelled in my life, I’m sad my kids don’t have family vacations to look back on, but there’s no point looking back, forward is the only direction we get to go and hopefully we get to keep going until we’re done.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Fun with Executive Leadership
Sitting in the bank representative’s cubicle, opening a new account, I answered the phone to my son’s panicked voice. My straight A, never been in trouble in his life son, panicked and rattling off his tale of woe. Prom being the next day and photo opps dancing around in my head, I didn’t really care what he did, no, he was not going to be suspended because that tux had already been rented, yes, I have my priorities straight. But when I heard his story, my mama-bear fury was unleashed, and I mean... for real.
I have never been impressed with his school’s principal, each and every time I’ve heard him speak it’s been a grammar-mangled, self-aggrandized, mind-numbing stream of who-knows-what. It seems students are allowed to submit school news blurbs to be read over the morning announcements, sports outcomes, upcoming events and the like. The previous day, this public school's baseball team played the exclusive local private school's team of which Principal X’s son is a player. Having played in different leagues over the years, the different school's teams all know one another and are friendly. My son wrote up a recap of the game {quite well written, I must say} which they had won and ended it with, “against a dominant offense, Dude X went hitless {Dude X being Principal's son}. The team had come up with this, but it was my boy who wrote it up and submitted it, and honestly, I think it’s funny. I have no doubt it was meant in good humor, a bit of harmless teasing. Principal X didn’t even hear the announcement, but a teacher thinking it so funny, told him about it and Principal X it turns out, not only has no grasp of grammar or pronunciation, he is thin-skinned, can’t take a joke and has anger issues.
He called my son into the main office and in front of everyone there, screamed, spit and pointed at him in the face for “20 minutes” which I would assume means 5-10 minutes, but none the less. My son had “humiliated both him and his family and his son was going to have to live with this for the rest of his life and he never wants to see his face again, no you can't speak, no you can not apologize”, seriously, he said that. “Don’t ever come into this office again”, you know... the main office where you sign in and out and see your guidance counselor and the nurse. What a horse’s ass.
Indeed he called me, and I was ready. I was awesome and most impressively, I stayed calm and coherent. I also understand that he had every right to find the joke unfunny, in which case you call the kid in, tell him so, let him apologize and move on, I assume that’s the type of conflict resolution we should be teaching our kids and yes, I shared this thought with him. He told me it would be a good long time before he let my son apologize, he’d be thinking about it, but he doubted he would accept any apology from him ever, yes, grown man talking, school principal, role model. He yelled at me and I saw the face of Buddha and sucked it up and explained that friendly teasing is often a sign of affection and respect and I can assure him that was the spirit in which it was intended, and he could have teased them right back, it would have been a “school spirit” moment. He tried to hang up on me at one point and the Buddha and I said “excuse me please, I’m not your student, I’m a parent and we need to finish this conversation.” I said, calmly and politely, after sucking it up some more and apologizing and feeling his pain, that I wanted to be sure there would be no negative repercussions stemming from this event, to which he screamed “that is the most condescending thing anyone has ever said to me.” I wanted to ask if that was really the word he was looking for, but went on to apologize some more and he assured me that he dedicates his heart, soul and lifesblood to the success of these kids and of course there would be no repercussions.
Now the word that comes to mind is hypocrite, because he had already called in the baseball coach and tried to get him kicked off the team, but they settled on a one-game suspension, no biggie. But after my call, that was rescinded and he tracked down my son and said “I accept your apology and can you give your mother a courtesy call.” My son stomped off, he's got things to learn too.
That’s right, I’m a bad ass mama and no one yells at my kid but me, and the prom pictures were fabulous!
But this is a cancer blog you're thinking, what does this have to do with cancer? Lots, because cancer patients become warriors, we live in the moment, we're not gonna miss prom night, we don't know what other milestones we may miss, so don't fuck with us, our kids or our cameras.
I have never been impressed with his school’s principal, each and every time I’ve heard him speak it’s been a grammar-mangled, self-aggrandized, mind-numbing stream of who-knows-what. It seems students are allowed to submit school news blurbs to be read over the morning announcements, sports outcomes, upcoming events and the like. The previous day, this public school's baseball team played the exclusive local private school's team of which Principal X’s son is a player. Having played in different leagues over the years, the different school's teams all know one another and are friendly. My son wrote up a recap of the game {quite well written, I must say} which they had won and ended it with, “against a dominant offense, Dude X went hitless {Dude X being Principal's son}. The team had come up with this, but it was my boy who wrote it up and submitted it, and honestly, I think it’s funny. I have no doubt it was meant in good humor, a bit of harmless teasing. Principal X didn’t even hear the announcement, but a teacher thinking it so funny, told him about it and Principal X it turns out, not only has no grasp of grammar or pronunciation, he is thin-skinned, can’t take a joke and has anger issues.
He called my son into the main office and in front of everyone there, screamed, spit and pointed at him in the face for “20 minutes” which I would assume means 5-10 minutes, but none the less. My son had “humiliated both him and his family and his son was going to have to live with this for the rest of his life and he never wants to see his face again, no you can't speak, no you can not apologize”, seriously, he said that. “Don’t ever come into this office again”, you know... the main office where you sign in and out and see your guidance counselor and the nurse. What a horse’s ass.
Indeed he called me, and I was ready. I was awesome and most impressively, I stayed calm and coherent. I also understand that he had every right to find the joke unfunny, in which case you call the kid in, tell him so, let him apologize and move on, I assume that’s the type of conflict resolution we should be teaching our kids and yes, I shared this thought with him. He told me it would be a good long time before he let my son apologize, he’d be thinking about it, but he doubted he would accept any apology from him ever, yes, grown man talking, school principal, role model. He yelled at me and I saw the face of Buddha and sucked it up and explained that friendly teasing is often a sign of affection and respect and I can assure him that was the spirit in which it was intended, and he could have teased them right back, it would have been a “school spirit” moment. He tried to hang up on me at one point and the Buddha and I said “excuse me please, I’m not your student, I’m a parent and we need to finish this conversation.” I said, calmly and politely, after sucking it up some more and apologizing and feeling his pain, that I wanted to be sure there would be no negative repercussions stemming from this event, to which he screamed “that is the most condescending thing anyone has ever said to me.” I wanted to ask if that was really the word he was looking for, but went on to apologize some more and he assured me that he dedicates his heart, soul and lifesblood to the success of these kids and of course there would be no repercussions.
Now the word that comes to mind is hypocrite, because he had already called in the baseball coach and tried to get him kicked off the team, but they settled on a one-game suspension, no biggie. But after my call, that was rescinded and he tracked down my son and said “I accept your apology and can you give your mother a courtesy call.” My son stomped off, he's got things to learn too.
That’s right, I’m a bad ass mama and no one yells at my kid but me, and the prom pictures were fabulous!
But this is a cancer blog you're thinking, what does this have to do with cancer? Lots, because cancer patients become warriors, we live in the moment, we're not gonna miss prom night, we don't know what other milestones we may miss, so don't fuck with us, our kids or our cameras.
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