I stopped blogging a few months ago for two reasons. First because I was just plain too busy, sometimes to even eat, let alone sitting down to write, and second, because I finally felt that people just plain knew too much about me, blogging leads to some odd relationships, people who know so much about me, and I, very little about them, it began to seem unbalanced and uncomfortable. So I stopped. Now, if someone wants to know what I’m up to, they have to actually get in touch with me and we have to spend real live time together. Took a break from my virtual life to have a real one.
I was busy dealing with a teenager with a bad case of Senoritis and the accompanying antics, and then getting that same boy off to college in one piece. Simultaneously, I rented a retail space and set about consolidating the various aspects of my schizophrenic, raggedy business into a full time retail store. I’m a girl on my own, so there was a lot to be done in a condensed period of time and limited funds, so I’ve been busy with a capital "B". I’ve been working 10 hour days, 7 days a week since mid-June and I’m finally hitting the wall, I'm exhausted. My store opened on September first, but I’m still moving things out of my beloved studio. Leaving the building I’ve been in for five years, the tall ceilings, and brick walls as well as my studio-mate who has become more than a friend, a sister, which has been difficult. At the same time, I’m trying to focus on my younger son and unplug while I’m at home to be more present and that's been wonderful.
But what puts me here at my keyboard instead of attending to the myriad tasks I’m falling behind on is that it’s Pinktober and this can be a very difficult month for breast cancer patients like myself. While I’m not in active treatment, finally checking in with my oncologist only every six months, I don’t use the word survivor because one is only a survivor until they’re not and I’m well aware of the very high risk I run of being done in, and done in quickly by this disease, which is called, in my case, triple negative breast cancer.
Pinktober is full of pink parties, events, endorsements and pink products. All eyes are on breast cancer and it turns my eyes inward towards breast cancer and makes me angry and sad. I don’t want my eyes focused inward on breast cancer, I want to go about my life, but all of this false “awareness” prevents that. With every billboard or celebrity endorsement I cringe. I cringe at the thought that most people think that breast cancer is a singular disease. I cringe that breast cancer is only important one month of the year, when many of us live with the effects of it year round. I cringe that most people think that breast cancer is easily treated and cured and that the walk or run they just did raised money for anything other than the over head of the run or walk they just did. Yep it paid for the advertising, the t-shirts, the water bottles and the positive P.R. of whatever group with highly paid directors put it on. Maybe that event raised enough money for that group to offer a free class to breast cancer patients about how to draw on eyebrows with a sample of some donated, likely toxic product, because eyebrows or lack thereof, are the chief concern of someone with a life-threatening disease.
All of this awareness leads people to think that you get diagnosed, you get treated and then you go on your merry way. Maybe that’s true for some people. Some people are treated for benign, slow growing cancers that might not even need to be treated because of the awareness hysteria, and then there’s the rest of us.
I’m not fine. I lost my business due to breast cancer. I used to make a good portion of my income selling my jewelry at shows, I can’t do that now because radiation destroyed my right shoulder and I couldn’t possibly put up a tent without excruciating, tears in the eyes pain. I can’t go on that pink walk or run because I have neuropathy in my hands and feet from one of the chemo drugs I had pumped straight into my heart via the surgically implanted port I had in my chest for a year. My heart that my treatment aged 10 years along with the rest of me, that’s what the doctors approximate.
I can’t walk without pain, or stand for long. My right and primary arm is swollen from lymphodema caused by deforming surgery, I still have pain, itching and maddening tightness along the 16” scar across my chest. I have to do payroll and write checks today. I have a hard time holding a pen in my swollen, partially numb hand, so it takes a while and my hand will hurt for two days. Everything takes me longer, thinking takes me longer.
Neuropathy also causes muscle cramps, that’s been a big issue for me lately. Sometimes I’m so tired I just want to sit on the couch and watch t.v. or listen to the radio, but my feet start cramping up and I have to walk in circles to get it to stop. I sit back down and they start right up again. I get cramps going up my legs, in my stomach or sides, just from rolling over in bed. So I don’t sleep well because going to bed I’m contemplating what pain is from treatment and what might be cancer, and then I wake up with muscle cramps and have to get up and walk around.
So that’s what cancer is and it doesn’t matter if it’s breast cancer or any other. And don’t they teach us from early on not to be exclusionary? How do those pink ribbons make people with ovarian cancer feel, or pancreatic cancer, or colon, or bone, or brain, how do they feel? They feel excluded and like second class citiziens, like their cancer isn’t popular, while I feel like everyone’s looking at me and insisting I’m fine because if we talk and talk and run and walk for breast cancer, it must be well in hand, everyone has done their part, all while very few are doing anything at all constructive.
I’m not even going to get into the perverse sexualization of this disease, because I could go on forever, I just want to say this, Pinktober makes me cry. Seriously, I’ve been feeling inexplicably blue and then I realized that’s what it is. This movement, that claims to want to help people like me, is making someone like me, as in me, burst into tears. Pink ribbons actually make me cry. Cancer didn’t make me cry, a year of chemo, rads, surgery, blood transfusions, daily injections didn’t get my spirit down, but these fucking pink ribbons, these corporate assholes and people buying into this crap make me cry. For me, this pink ribbon nonsense shines a light on how not alright I am, the impediments and discomfort I live with and have to accept.
So if you care about peope with cancer, any kind of cancer, if you want to find a cure for cancer, put down the pink. Lobby congress to appropriate money to universities and the NIH for research. Lobby pharmaceutical companies to make drugs affordable, and insurance companies to pay for physical therapy in addition to wigs and prosthetics, in a misguided (in my opinion) attempt to normalize the abnormal. Cancer happened, lets stop covering that up, or pretending it’s a big happy club. Let’s elect people who will fund stem-cell research and let’s put pressure on Monsanto and their ilk and fracking companies to stop polluting our air, water and food so that there will be less cancer to cure.
But please, please, let’s get rid of pinktober so that people like me can just go about their business without feeling disrespected, without bursting into tears. Let us go on with our lives and you go on with yours without having parties and making public statements because it makes you look good or it’s fun, it's at my expense and that's not o.k. It’s not fun from my perspective and frankly, I think I’ve earned the right to my perspective trumping theirs on this. I’ve been there, done that, I live with the after effects every minute of every day of which I have chronic pain, disabilities and fear. Put down the pink product, take off the ribbon or the pink socks, you can do it.
For additional information, please go to http://www.bcaction.org They’re the good guys in my book and they are who I support.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Monday, July 14, 2014
Tumor Markers Stable
My oncologist says a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, he's right no doubt, but I'm a knowledge girl, I've got to know everything. I can't process something until I understand it, but as I get older I realize not everything can be understood. I was so much more nervous about this Oncology check-in than the others, or maybe I wasn't and I just don't remember. I walked up to the hospital today trying my best to keep my bones from disintegrating. When I checked in I learned that you don't get a plastic bracelet with every visit and I felt mildly victorious. I used to be obsessed with the waste of this, especially the hard plastic clips used to fasten them. There were little dishes of these by each receptionist's desk, I'd imagine how many cases they'd go through in a day or a month, and I'd annoy the receptionist with these thoughts. I'd talk about how many of those must go to the landfill each day when we were all cognizant and knew who we were. If I'm going in for surgery, I'm ok with being labelled all over the place, but for a quick blood draw or doctor's appointment, it seemed wasteful.
In the waiting room I realized there's something I'll never, ever understand and that's Kathie Lee and Hoda. Who is this Hoda person? I don't know the appeal, they don't even seem real, they seem like an amalgam of mainstream thought and style entered into a computer program and then generated in 3d. I can kinda get the Kelly and Michael thing, but not these two, they are icky on a stick.
My appointment was anticlimactic because they forgot to run the most important test, the one that's been keeping me up at night, the infamous tumor marker. I gave another vial and I got a voicemail a few hours later that I went from a 36 to a 40 which is statistically insignificant, so I got my cancer card punched for the next six months. I always think I'll rejoice and celebrate, but instead I'm just exhausted and relieved and maybe I'll sleep better tonight. The reason my doctor says that knowledge can be a dangerous thing is because I know where I am on the bell curve of risk. I know that for the next twelve months I'm climbing to the summit of risk and then I start descending from the peak. And me, well, I'm clumsy, I'll get up there and trip and take an eye out on the pointy part of the peak.
I need more nature. Little dude and I went to a friends in a more rural location the other night and we walked in the dark and were surrounded by fireflies. I haven't seen fireflies in years and J never has. It was magical, the woods seemed all lit up for xmas and my son kept putting his arm around me and waxing poetic. There was a full moon too and warm summer air, it was special, we needed it. It's hard to get that boy away from the computer, there's kind of no way to do it if we're at home, I have to get him off-site which is hard when so many normal summer options are out. He doesn't swim, he has sensory issues and loathes sand between his toes, neither of us like crowds much. He likes to fish, but I don't know the first thing about where and how to go about that. I took him to NH a couple of weeks ago and we did art galleries and cafés which we both love, but once I get the store open, no more weekends off for me for a good long time. Working all the time as it is getting ready and there seems and endless list of things to do. I could manage my time better, I suppose I need not be writing this and I spend an inordinate amount of time sitting on my porch listening to the trees rustle in the wind. Interspersed with that, I get an artist bio written or something ordered for the store and in the back of my mind I'm thinking about margarita's and whether I'll go make one or not.
In the waiting room I realized there's something I'll never, ever understand and that's Kathie Lee and Hoda. Who is this Hoda person? I don't know the appeal, they don't even seem real, they seem like an amalgam of mainstream thought and style entered into a computer program and then generated in 3d. I can kinda get the Kelly and Michael thing, but not these two, they are icky on a stick.
My appointment was anticlimactic because they forgot to run the most important test, the one that's been keeping me up at night, the infamous tumor marker. I gave another vial and I got a voicemail a few hours later that I went from a 36 to a 40 which is statistically insignificant, so I got my cancer card punched for the next six months. I always think I'll rejoice and celebrate, but instead I'm just exhausted and relieved and maybe I'll sleep better tonight. The reason my doctor says that knowledge can be a dangerous thing is because I know where I am on the bell curve of risk. I know that for the next twelve months I'm climbing to the summit of risk and then I start descending from the peak. And me, well, I'm clumsy, I'll get up there and trip and take an eye out on the pointy part of the peak.
I need more nature. Little dude and I went to a friends in a more rural location the other night and we walked in the dark and were surrounded by fireflies. I haven't seen fireflies in years and J never has. It was magical, the woods seemed all lit up for xmas and my son kept putting his arm around me and waxing poetic. There was a full moon too and warm summer air, it was special, we needed it. It's hard to get that boy away from the computer, there's kind of no way to do it if we're at home, I have to get him off-site which is hard when so many normal summer options are out. He doesn't swim, he has sensory issues and loathes sand between his toes, neither of us like crowds much. He likes to fish, but I don't know the first thing about where and how to go about that. I took him to NH a couple of weeks ago and we did art galleries and cafés which we both love, but once I get the store open, no more weekends off for me for a good long time. Working all the time as it is getting ready and there seems and endless list of things to do. I could manage my time better, I suppose I need not be writing this and I spend an inordinate amount of time sitting on my porch listening to the trees rustle in the wind. Interspersed with that, I get an artist bio written or something ordered for the store and in the back of my mind I'm thinking about margarita's and whether I'll go make one or not.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Anxiety and X-Files
My stomach hurts, really hurts, my head hurts too. A couple of advil will do the trick as far ast he head goes, but my stomach hurts and my who self is sagging. My eyes are droopy and my torso feels like it’s curving inwards because I want to roll up like a pill bug into a little ball and roll away, roll under a shady rock and stay there hidden, out of sight.
Anxiety and stress, anxiety and stress, the gruesome twosome. I’ve made such progress staying settled and present and keeping the howling wolves at bay, but sometimes they approach, they breach the perimeter. I gave my vials of blood on Monday, no big deal, I was cheery going in and cheery going out, but imperceptively, as the week’s gone on, they anxiety has crept up. I’ve got a long weekend between now and my oncologist appointment on Monday. I can’t conceive of hearing anything other than I’m stable, that my cancer markers are in check and everything else looks good. But who out there can possibly conceive of hearing anything other than that and yet so many do. So, so, so many do.
Anxiety is like the black tar that crept into people, overcoming them on the X-Files, that’s a distant memory, oh Mulder and Scully, I loved you so. You don’t see anxiety coming and it starts slowly, but before you know it, you’re consumed and consumed, is what I am at the moment and disturbingly powerless against it. I don’t like powerless.
Anxiety, is robbing me of a precious day. Today is a precious day, every day is, i want to live every minute of it fully, with joy and at peace, but I’m not at peace and that makes me feel like I’m wasting valuable time, because that’s what it’s all about, time, and life, life and time and every minute is valuable. Anxiety affects me in such a physical way, it makes me see differently, process differently, I am sensitive and insecure.
And my stomach hurts.
I’ve been working like mad lately, fixing up my new space, cleaning, painting, making displays, ordering things, planning, so much left to do, signage and packaging and logos and pricing. Then I’m at the studio making and cleaning and purging and packing and then it’s home for cooking and cleaning and planning and plotting and the outcome of all that could be moot, unless I get my dance card punched for another five months of getting to be alive by the doctor man on monday. Living with that duality is surreal, it’s freakish. And at times, and that would be right about now, stressful.
And stressful is wasteful, a whole vicious cycle. Fear and loathing, fear and loathing. Today is one of those days I felt compelled to write, I had to write. I don’t know why I can’t just write it into a journal, I don’t know why that isn’t enough. Is it our innate need to be heard? I’m often embarrassed when I post, but I can’t help it, something in me, that I don’t understand, needs to do it.
I feel like the past few months, I’ve been masquerading as a “normal” person. I can do so much more this summer than last. Last summer I couldn’t walk to my local farmer’s market, this year I can do it. It tires me out a bit, but I can absolutely do it. I can have people over, I rarely nap anymore, there’s just so much more I can do, so I was starting to forget, but I’m not “normal”. I’m travelling around with a guillotine over my neck that can snap at any moment. I know that essentially, we all are, the difference is I’ve met mine, I know it’s name and that makes me a circus sideshow.
The other day, I learned that a lovely, lovely woman in my neighborhood, who I’ve known casually and peripherally for years, and is my age or a few years older was just diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. I have a friend who came back from that same diagnosis ten years ago and she is a funky, spunky, monkey. So this woman has a long and arduous road, but there is hope... at least I hope there is hope. She has a large, supportive family and tight community, which is all good. She is in my heart and thoughts and maybe I’ll find a way to be helpful, I hope so.
The reason I know is because someone told me, not even knowing that I knew the person, but once you’ve had cancer, everyone tells you about all the people they know with cancer or who have just been diagnosed. You become a repository for everyone’s cancer stories and that makes cancer even more disproportionate to your life, if there can be such a thing after you’ve been through surgeries, chemo, rads and disability.
This week I’m a cancer survivor, next week, maybe not. That’s why those cancer words suck. Survivor, fighter, warrior, battle, succumbed. They try to give order and meaning to a situation that has none.
I had to leave work, couldn’t manage, I’m sitting on my porch, beautiful porch, but instead of seeing, feeling the beauty of my oasis, it’s tinted with my ugly stress and anxiety, so much seems grey instead of bright, 70% opacity. Such a waste of time, I wish I knew how to get a grip, be the mistress of my emotions, of my destiny, even if my destiny is one day long, I want to be the boss of it.
Anxiety and stress, anxiety and stress, the gruesome twosome. I’ve made such progress staying settled and present and keeping the howling wolves at bay, but sometimes they approach, they breach the perimeter. I gave my vials of blood on Monday, no big deal, I was cheery going in and cheery going out, but imperceptively, as the week’s gone on, they anxiety has crept up. I’ve got a long weekend between now and my oncologist appointment on Monday. I can’t conceive of hearing anything other than I’m stable, that my cancer markers are in check and everything else looks good. But who out there can possibly conceive of hearing anything other than that and yet so many do. So, so, so many do.
Anxiety is like the black tar that crept into people, overcoming them on the X-Files, that’s a distant memory, oh Mulder and Scully, I loved you so. You don’t see anxiety coming and it starts slowly, but before you know it, you’re consumed and consumed, is what I am at the moment and disturbingly powerless against it. I don’t like powerless.
Anxiety, is robbing me of a precious day. Today is a precious day, every day is, i want to live every minute of it fully, with joy and at peace, but I’m not at peace and that makes me feel like I’m wasting valuable time, because that’s what it’s all about, time, and life, life and time and every minute is valuable. Anxiety affects me in such a physical way, it makes me see differently, process differently, I am sensitive and insecure.
And my stomach hurts.
I’ve been working like mad lately, fixing up my new space, cleaning, painting, making displays, ordering things, planning, so much left to do, signage and packaging and logos and pricing. Then I’m at the studio making and cleaning and purging and packing and then it’s home for cooking and cleaning and planning and plotting and the outcome of all that could be moot, unless I get my dance card punched for another five months of getting to be alive by the doctor man on monday. Living with that duality is surreal, it’s freakish. And at times, and that would be right about now, stressful.
And stressful is wasteful, a whole vicious cycle. Fear and loathing, fear and loathing. Today is one of those days I felt compelled to write, I had to write. I don’t know why I can’t just write it into a journal, I don’t know why that isn’t enough. Is it our innate need to be heard? I’m often embarrassed when I post, but I can’t help it, something in me, that I don’t understand, needs to do it.
I feel like the past few months, I’ve been masquerading as a “normal” person. I can do so much more this summer than last. Last summer I couldn’t walk to my local farmer’s market, this year I can do it. It tires me out a bit, but I can absolutely do it. I can have people over, I rarely nap anymore, there’s just so much more I can do, so I was starting to forget, but I’m not “normal”. I’m travelling around with a guillotine over my neck that can snap at any moment. I know that essentially, we all are, the difference is I’ve met mine, I know it’s name and that makes me a circus sideshow.
The other day, I learned that a lovely, lovely woman in my neighborhood, who I’ve known casually and peripherally for years, and is my age or a few years older was just diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. I have a friend who came back from that same diagnosis ten years ago and she is a funky, spunky, monkey. So this woman has a long and arduous road, but there is hope... at least I hope there is hope. She has a large, supportive family and tight community, which is all good. She is in my heart and thoughts and maybe I’ll find a way to be helpful, I hope so.
The reason I know is because someone told me, not even knowing that I knew the person, but once you’ve had cancer, everyone tells you about all the people they know with cancer or who have just been diagnosed. You become a repository for everyone’s cancer stories and that makes cancer even more disproportionate to your life, if there can be such a thing after you’ve been through surgeries, chemo, rads and disability.
This week I’m a cancer survivor, next week, maybe not. That’s why those cancer words suck. Survivor, fighter, warrior, battle, succumbed. They try to give order and meaning to a situation that has none.
I had to leave work, couldn’t manage, I’m sitting on my porch, beautiful porch, but instead of seeing, feeling the beauty of my oasis, it’s tinted with my ugly stress and anxiety, so much seems grey instead of bright, 70% opacity. Such a waste of time, I wish I knew how to get a grip, be the mistress of my emotions, of my destiny, even if my destiny is one day long, I want to be the boss of it.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
A Fine Spring
I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop blogging, but once I realized it’d been a while I thought I’d write some sort of profound conclusion, life got busy and I never got to it. Between then and now I’ve been writing posts in my head, without the time to sit down and type them, and I never did settle on a grand summation.
One of the reasons I stopped writing is that I wanted to put it all behind me, I was tired of talking about cancer, it seemed like time to get over it already, but you never really get over it, it rears it’s mutated head when you least expect it and sometimes when you do. There are some things you put behind you and some that just keep following you wherever you go, I guess I need to accept that and I do. My right shoulder has been increasingly painful over the past year and despite regular physical therapy, it’s been only getting worse, so I finally went to an orthopedist who took an x-ray. The film confirmed a “frozen” shoulder, the result of surgery and radiation, which may or may not get better, but it’s good to know that when I jolt it and my eyeballs almost pop out of my head with pain, I’m not injuring it... it just hurts. The film also revealed a small lump near my lymph nodes, so I had to go see my surgeon which entailed a four-day wait in Dante’s inferno and from there another two day wait for an ultrasound which revealed a small benign calcification, nothing to worry about.
During this time, I alternated between relative calm and panic, the other day, while picking luscious red, fragrant strawberries in an endless field on a hot day with a cool breeze I thought if I die right now it would be o.k. I transcended fear for the rest of the day, I was calm. Next morning I woke up in the throes of a panic attack, my enlightened Buddha phase was short-lived, oh well, twas nice while it lasted. I could barely breathe through the ultrasound and then I made the doctor repeat over and over again, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. Now I realize why they don’t give you scans after treatment, because they would find something, we’re all filled with mysterious lumps and bumps, shadows and valleys.
Phew, that’s all I can say. Glad that’s over with, although that’s not over with, that will happen again and again for this reason or that, for the rest of my life. You’re only a “cancer survivor” until you’re not. Until you die of other causes, you don’t know. Next week I go for a blood draw to check for cancer markers and the next week I’ll see my oncologist to find out where I stand, so as much as I feel great and dare I say, look well, I have a shadow I’ll never shake. When I was first diagnosed I was stoic and fearless, I just figured I’d deal with it, but now I know better, for all those pretty ribbons, women die of breast cancer, especially the kind I had, and if I have a recurrence, just one teeny tiny recurrence, it won’t be teeny tiny for long, and as my oncologist so eloquently puts it, my time will be counted in months, not years.
Aside from the scare, I’ve been having a great time, since last I wrote. I watched my oldest boy graduate from high school, when you’ve had cancer, these milestones are even bigger because you’ve listed them in your mind as the things you’d not want to miss. I found the ceremony oddly anticlimactic as the preceding month was so filled with senioritis and graduation related activities and celebrations. During the ceremony I simply felt a quiet door closing, an era ending, and it was neither melancholy or happy, it just was, and that was ok. In the fall, my baby will go to his first choice of colleges, he has a long, wide road ahead of him to take him anyplace he wants. I’m excited for him, I feel joy in the possibilities, but I’m also worried, he will be tested, he will be challenged and I can’t scoop him up anymore and make everything better. But now is the time, it is the right time, for every thing there is a season and this 18-year long season is making way for a new one
I fell in love... and out of love, or more precisely, was fallen out of love with, which made/makes me sad, but it was so damned much fun, while it lasted I have no regrets. For a little while it was lovely, just lovely. I came out of it with a lifelong friend, and that’s not so shabby. I realized that what I really want is to be comfortably settled in a twenty year marriage... a real one, not the empty, lonely, dysfunctional one I had, a real one, the good and the bad as long as it is real and honest and mutual. But that’s not in the cards, that’s not an option, and so I don’t know what I want and I'm well aware, I don't get to choose. I liked feeling things I wasn’t sure I could feel any more, and I'm glad I was open and allowed myself to be vulnerable, but I also know that my life is full and new relationships take time, I don’t have all that much free time. Single mom’s trying to support themselves just don’t have the time and the luxury that single dads with visitation do and let’s face it... I’m a mom-thing. I would love to be a “we”, I think I'm a damned fine person to be a "we" with, but maybe I’m just destined to be a “me”. So I’m just going to let life flow and see where it takes me, my job is to find joy in the minutia, have an open mind and keep challenging myself. I'm not feeling the desperation to be with someone that I was in prior posts. I’m letting go of fantasies and living in the moment, enjoying the strawberry fields and the sweet relief of hearing that “it’s nothing" which makes me realize just how grand my life is.
When I was in treatment, when I was sick, I lost my wholesale business, I couldn’t do shows, and I still can’t. That source of income is gone for me and finally stepping back and looking at the bigger picture, I realized I can’t afford my studio and my Saturday store. Can’t just ride the coat-tails of the Winter Farmer’s Market every week, need to get a job or make one. Not a lot of jobs out there for partially disabled, haven’t been in the workforce for 18 years, 50 year old women. So when a retail space vacated in my beloved neighborhood of 21 years, four blocks from my house, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to go another year cancer-free, get through my highest risk years before making any big life changes, but I didn’t really have a choice. Line of people wanting to rent prime retail space a hop and skip from my house... had to snag it. I’m bereft at having to leave my studio-mate, every minute of sharing our space was a pleasure and nothing but easy peasy. Sharing space is a special kind of relationship of it’s own, and ours has been wonderful, we will always be friends, and room-mates become a unique kind of friend. Change is hard, but it’s unavoidable.
For the last month I’ve been working night and day to clean up a filthy, abused and neglected space. Friends have helped me out more than I can say and I’m equally terrified and excited. I am sad to lose my freedom, I’ll be chained to a box 24/7, so it damned well better be a nice box. I think my concept is good, I think this will work, if not, I haven’t a clue.
But as always, riding alongside my excitement and all this work, is the shadow... how will I come out of my oncologist’s appointment, in a really good mood or the one most dire? The next twelve months are the highest risk for me. On a bell curve I’m hitting the summit and in a year I start descending. There are outliers of course, and a lot of cancer patients die from complications of their treatment, but that doesn’t concern me, there’s only one thing that I worry about and that’s hearing that I have a metastasis, and that will start by hearing that my markers are up. I don’t want to hear that, ever.
In the midst of all these life changes, the heart, the lump, I went to NH with my youngest, my mini-me (but better), and had a perfect weekend with friends except on the way up, I got word that my long estranged father had gone into hospice and on Sunday, on a walk around the lake, I got news that he passed away. At 96, on family number three, having left a wide swath of wreckage behind him, I didn’t feel much of anything other than bad memories. While I was gone, my graduate came home on a night off from "work" with fellow camp counselors to have a party, which I naively thought would be in the backyard with firepit and a reasonable amount of alcohol which I was ok with because I know they don’t drink and drive, they just pile up like rats and sleep wherever they are. Instead, I opened the door and entered a den of filth and destruction. My antique dining room table on it’s back like a dead elephant with a leg broken off, empty bottles and red solo cups behind the couch, descriptions of bathrooms are not fit for civilized readers, sticky filth on every surface and floor which incited an anger I’ve rarely felt. When the party host arrived next evening with a carload of co-conspirators to clean I sat them down and had a wonderful rant and even finished off with yelling at them about not even separating their trash from their recyclables. The phrase “disgusting animals” and “disrespect” were generously tossed about the room and I felt better and my house got cleaned. I was merciless, damn those boys not only don’t know how to clean, they don’t see dirt. I sent my son back into the bathroom to re-clean at least six times and I made them not only mop, but hand dry the floors. A comedy of errors, but at least I'm not mad anymore. I was worried I'd be mad at him for the rest of the summer, but damn, that kid can be charming.
This morning I lit the yearly memorial candle that is delivered the day before by a dear friend who also has people to remember this month. My girl should have been 15 today and the candle will burn for 24-hours. As always, I crack up a week beforehand, today I’m fine. As usual, she goes unremembered and unacknowledged by any of her other relatives, but that’s ok too, she is remembered by her mom and I suppose I’m the only one who knew her even a little bit. I’m in my hammock with an iced tea on this very hot, muggy day hearing both my neighbor practicing her flute and my son whistling the song from Frozen while he plays computer games.
Recent drama aside, I had a wonderful spring. I watched the tall ones last season of high school baseball, I shared the bleachers with other players parents who have become friends and with who I’ve shared bleachers for years, some of them well over a decade. It was a perfect final chapter, I’m excited about my son going to college and us settling into a new normal, I’m excited about my new business venture, deeply moved by the help being offered, feeling more creative than I have in some time and more settled. Feeling like I am at a good point in my life, my soul feels calm and wise and very resilient. I feel like this is my time and with the new store I’m going to step up and own it. I will not let insecurity rule it, I will own it. I will make every decision without running around asking for advice and input, I finally realize that while there is always (much) more to be learned, I have to own my spot on this earth and I’ll stop worrying about what other people think, no more scurrying around like a worried little anxiety mouse. Time to trust my gut and my mind and my instincts and have confidence. I know more than I think I know and it’s time to own it. Integrity, respect, and strength can coexist, I’m putting my cards on the table. This is my time and cancer better not fuck it up.
One of the reasons I stopped writing is that I wanted to put it all behind me, I was tired of talking about cancer, it seemed like time to get over it already, but you never really get over it, it rears it’s mutated head when you least expect it and sometimes when you do. There are some things you put behind you and some that just keep following you wherever you go, I guess I need to accept that and I do. My right shoulder has been increasingly painful over the past year and despite regular physical therapy, it’s been only getting worse, so I finally went to an orthopedist who took an x-ray. The film confirmed a “frozen” shoulder, the result of surgery and radiation, which may or may not get better, but it’s good to know that when I jolt it and my eyeballs almost pop out of my head with pain, I’m not injuring it... it just hurts. The film also revealed a small lump near my lymph nodes, so I had to go see my surgeon which entailed a four-day wait in Dante’s inferno and from there another two day wait for an ultrasound which revealed a small benign calcification, nothing to worry about.
During this time, I alternated between relative calm and panic, the other day, while picking luscious red, fragrant strawberries in an endless field on a hot day with a cool breeze I thought if I die right now it would be o.k. I transcended fear for the rest of the day, I was calm. Next morning I woke up in the throes of a panic attack, my enlightened Buddha phase was short-lived, oh well, twas nice while it lasted. I could barely breathe through the ultrasound and then I made the doctor repeat over and over again, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. Now I realize why they don’t give you scans after treatment, because they would find something, we’re all filled with mysterious lumps and bumps, shadows and valleys.
Phew, that’s all I can say. Glad that’s over with, although that’s not over with, that will happen again and again for this reason or that, for the rest of my life. You’re only a “cancer survivor” until you’re not. Until you die of other causes, you don’t know. Next week I go for a blood draw to check for cancer markers and the next week I’ll see my oncologist to find out where I stand, so as much as I feel great and dare I say, look well, I have a shadow I’ll never shake. When I was first diagnosed I was stoic and fearless, I just figured I’d deal with it, but now I know better, for all those pretty ribbons, women die of breast cancer, especially the kind I had, and if I have a recurrence, just one teeny tiny recurrence, it won’t be teeny tiny for long, and as my oncologist so eloquently puts it, my time will be counted in months, not years.
Aside from the scare, I’ve been having a great time, since last I wrote. I watched my oldest boy graduate from high school, when you’ve had cancer, these milestones are even bigger because you’ve listed them in your mind as the things you’d not want to miss. I found the ceremony oddly anticlimactic as the preceding month was so filled with senioritis and graduation related activities and celebrations. During the ceremony I simply felt a quiet door closing, an era ending, and it was neither melancholy or happy, it just was, and that was ok. In the fall, my baby will go to his first choice of colleges, he has a long, wide road ahead of him to take him anyplace he wants. I’m excited for him, I feel joy in the possibilities, but I’m also worried, he will be tested, he will be challenged and I can’t scoop him up anymore and make everything better. But now is the time, it is the right time, for every thing there is a season and this 18-year long season is making way for a new one
I fell in love... and out of love, or more precisely, was fallen out of love with, which made/makes me sad, but it was so damned much fun, while it lasted I have no regrets. For a little while it was lovely, just lovely. I came out of it with a lifelong friend, and that’s not so shabby. I realized that what I really want is to be comfortably settled in a twenty year marriage... a real one, not the empty, lonely, dysfunctional one I had, a real one, the good and the bad as long as it is real and honest and mutual. But that’s not in the cards, that’s not an option, and so I don’t know what I want and I'm well aware, I don't get to choose. I liked feeling things I wasn’t sure I could feel any more, and I'm glad I was open and allowed myself to be vulnerable, but I also know that my life is full and new relationships take time, I don’t have all that much free time. Single mom’s trying to support themselves just don’t have the time and the luxury that single dads with visitation do and let’s face it... I’m a mom-thing. I would love to be a “we”, I think I'm a damned fine person to be a "we" with, but maybe I’m just destined to be a “me”. So I’m just going to let life flow and see where it takes me, my job is to find joy in the minutia, have an open mind and keep challenging myself. I'm not feeling the desperation to be with someone that I was in prior posts. I’m letting go of fantasies and living in the moment, enjoying the strawberry fields and the sweet relief of hearing that “it’s nothing" which makes me realize just how grand my life is.
When I was in treatment, when I was sick, I lost my wholesale business, I couldn’t do shows, and I still can’t. That source of income is gone for me and finally stepping back and looking at the bigger picture, I realized I can’t afford my studio and my Saturday store. Can’t just ride the coat-tails of the Winter Farmer’s Market every week, need to get a job or make one. Not a lot of jobs out there for partially disabled, haven’t been in the workforce for 18 years, 50 year old women. So when a retail space vacated in my beloved neighborhood of 21 years, four blocks from my house, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to go another year cancer-free, get through my highest risk years before making any big life changes, but I didn’t really have a choice. Line of people wanting to rent prime retail space a hop and skip from my house... had to snag it. I’m bereft at having to leave my studio-mate, every minute of sharing our space was a pleasure and nothing but easy peasy. Sharing space is a special kind of relationship of it’s own, and ours has been wonderful, we will always be friends, and room-mates become a unique kind of friend. Change is hard, but it’s unavoidable.
For the last month I’ve been working night and day to clean up a filthy, abused and neglected space. Friends have helped me out more than I can say and I’m equally terrified and excited. I am sad to lose my freedom, I’ll be chained to a box 24/7, so it damned well better be a nice box. I think my concept is good, I think this will work, if not, I haven’t a clue.
But as always, riding alongside my excitement and all this work, is the shadow... how will I come out of my oncologist’s appointment, in a really good mood or the one most dire? The next twelve months are the highest risk for me. On a bell curve I’m hitting the summit and in a year I start descending. There are outliers of course, and a lot of cancer patients die from complications of their treatment, but that doesn’t concern me, there’s only one thing that I worry about and that’s hearing that I have a metastasis, and that will start by hearing that my markers are up. I don’t want to hear that, ever.
In the midst of all these life changes, the heart, the lump, I went to NH with my youngest, my mini-me (but better), and had a perfect weekend with friends except on the way up, I got word that my long estranged father had gone into hospice and on Sunday, on a walk around the lake, I got news that he passed away. At 96, on family number three, having left a wide swath of wreckage behind him, I didn’t feel much of anything other than bad memories. While I was gone, my graduate came home on a night off from "work" with fellow camp counselors to have a party, which I naively thought would be in the backyard with firepit and a reasonable amount of alcohol which I was ok with because I know they don’t drink and drive, they just pile up like rats and sleep wherever they are. Instead, I opened the door and entered a den of filth and destruction. My antique dining room table on it’s back like a dead elephant with a leg broken off, empty bottles and red solo cups behind the couch, descriptions of bathrooms are not fit for civilized readers, sticky filth on every surface and floor which incited an anger I’ve rarely felt. When the party host arrived next evening with a carload of co-conspirators to clean I sat them down and had a wonderful rant and even finished off with yelling at them about not even separating their trash from their recyclables. The phrase “disgusting animals” and “disrespect” were generously tossed about the room and I felt better and my house got cleaned. I was merciless, damn those boys not only don’t know how to clean, they don’t see dirt. I sent my son back into the bathroom to re-clean at least six times and I made them not only mop, but hand dry the floors. A comedy of errors, but at least I'm not mad anymore. I was worried I'd be mad at him for the rest of the summer, but damn, that kid can be charming.
This morning I lit the yearly memorial candle that is delivered the day before by a dear friend who also has people to remember this month. My girl should have been 15 today and the candle will burn for 24-hours. As always, I crack up a week beforehand, today I’m fine. As usual, she goes unremembered and unacknowledged by any of her other relatives, but that’s ok too, she is remembered by her mom and I suppose I’m the only one who knew her even a little bit. I’m in my hammock with an iced tea on this very hot, muggy day hearing both my neighbor practicing her flute and my son whistling the song from Frozen while he plays computer games.
Recent drama aside, I had a wonderful spring. I watched the tall ones last season of high school baseball, I shared the bleachers with other players parents who have become friends and with who I’ve shared bleachers for years, some of them well over a decade. It was a perfect final chapter, I’m excited about my son going to college and us settling into a new normal, I’m excited about my new business venture, deeply moved by the help being offered, feeling more creative than I have in some time and more settled. Feeling like I am at a good point in my life, my soul feels calm and wise and very resilient. I feel like this is my time and with the new store I’m going to step up and own it. I will not let insecurity rule it, I will own it. I will make every decision without running around asking for advice and input, I finally realize that while there is always (much) more to be learned, I have to own my spot on this earth and I’ll stop worrying about what other people think, no more scurrying around like a worried little anxiety mouse. Time to trust my gut and my mind and my instincts and have confidence. I know more than I think I know and it’s time to own it. Integrity, respect, and strength can coexist, I’m putting my cards on the table. This is my time and cancer better not fuck it up.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Wile E. Coyote
Just as I’d forgotton about the magazine article, Rhode Island Monthly has hit the stands with their glossy covered “Best Doctors in Rhode Island” issue, with not a blurb, but a full page spread replete with giant picture of... me. And a bad picture at that. Even the few friends that have seen it have admitted, yeah, that is a really bad picture. I look wan, tired, and having a very bad hair day. I read the article once, there is one unfinished quote that leaves me a tiny bit uncomfortable, but all in all, it’s such a sweet, generous piece. None the less, I’ve read it once and that is that.
Just as I was feeling awkward about it, I got an email from a woman who said she was sitting in her doctors office today, reading the article while wearing a LuckyBird Studio necklace, which is my business name, and she too had just gone through breast cancer and was compelled to contact me. That alone, makes me glad I did it. To have connected with someone through a magazine page was a really cool feeling and I hope she will take me up on my offer to come to the studio for tea, because my story is told, I’d like to hear someone elses. Without a doubt there is a kinship among those that have heard the words “you have cancer”.
It’s been a year and a half since I finished treatment and two years since my surgery. While I still wrestle with the physical after effects, it seems like so much longer past, while at the same time, I can barely remember the simplicity of before, hazy, a bad dream. I feel like I can finally start my new life, my post-bad-marriage-life and I’m excited. So excited it makes me nervous, because my track record is poor. So many times I’ve thought that I’ve used up my quota of bad luck, but then when I get too comfy, the giant anvil falls from directly above a lá Wile E. Coyote. Maybe I’ve got to learn to dodge instead of standing still and letting it land squarely on my head, or maybe, at last, I really have used up my quota.
My next appointment with my oncologist is in July, I feel like I can only breathe freely until then, when hopefully he’ll give me another five month pass. Five more months, life in tiny increments is not enough, but it is what I get. I have never wanted to do more, never felt so energized, I can’t nearly fit in all the experiences I want to have in five months. I have to hope that the mind/body connection will see me through. That the happier I am, the more protected from harm I’ll be. We all grow cancer cells occasionally, but our bodies are built to remediate them. I think I had marriage cancer, childhood trauma cancer, it all built up and my system was just too stressed or maxed out to notice or bother with what was going on. I just have to hold on to the idea that a happy body, happy heart is as powerful as I need it to be. Trip planning is good too, because if I plan a trip in advance, surely, it is etched in stone and the universe won't let me lose my deposit.
Just as I was feeling awkward about it, I got an email from a woman who said she was sitting in her doctors office today, reading the article while wearing a LuckyBird Studio necklace, which is my business name, and she too had just gone through breast cancer and was compelled to contact me. That alone, makes me glad I did it. To have connected with someone through a magazine page was a really cool feeling and I hope she will take me up on my offer to come to the studio for tea, because my story is told, I’d like to hear someone elses. Without a doubt there is a kinship among those that have heard the words “you have cancer”.
It’s been a year and a half since I finished treatment and two years since my surgery. While I still wrestle with the physical after effects, it seems like so much longer past, while at the same time, I can barely remember the simplicity of before, hazy, a bad dream. I feel like I can finally start my new life, my post-bad-marriage-life and I’m excited. So excited it makes me nervous, because my track record is poor. So many times I’ve thought that I’ve used up my quota of bad luck, but then when I get too comfy, the giant anvil falls from directly above a lá Wile E. Coyote. Maybe I’ve got to learn to dodge instead of standing still and letting it land squarely on my head, or maybe, at last, I really have used up my quota.
My next appointment with my oncologist is in July, I feel like I can only breathe freely until then, when hopefully he’ll give me another five month pass. Five more months, life in tiny increments is not enough, but it is what I get. I have never wanted to do more, never felt so energized, I can’t nearly fit in all the experiences I want to have in five months. I have to hope that the mind/body connection will see me through. That the happier I am, the more protected from harm I’ll be. We all grow cancer cells occasionally, but our bodies are built to remediate them. I think I had marriage cancer, childhood trauma cancer, it all built up and my system was just too stressed or maxed out to notice or bother with what was going on. I just have to hold on to the idea that a happy body, happy heart is as powerful as I need it to be. Trip planning is good too, because if I plan a trip in advance, surely, it is etched in stone and the universe won't let me lose my deposit.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Centered, Cultured and Cultivated
I slept with the window open last night, it was heavenly. Last night seems a long time ago, in this cold, blustery, flustery storm that is making all of my old windows rattle. Most of the windows in the house need new cords so that they’ll open and close without a struggle and won’t need books propping them up so they don’t spontaneously crash down, cat squashing, limb crushing or wood splintering. Another thing I wish I’d pushed to have remediated while I had a co-owner with cash flow. I stopped asking for things to get done a long time ago because I just dreaded the dead pan “is that really necessary?” or “can we really afford that?” Yes, yes, we probably could have. Looking back I don’t know why I didn’t just say “yes, yes, that is really necessary.” I don’t know why I’m so conflict averse when I grew up surrounded by so much conflict, well maybe that’s why, and maybe I was just defeated, deflated. I like getting things done, you know what floats my boat, what really turns me on? Guys that get shit done. If I were a man, maybe that’s what my OkCupid profile would say, “I get shit done.” I have a friend who laments the lack of women in his life and attributes it to his theory that women only like men who treat them badly, women like assholes and he’s too nice. I don’t think that’s it... maybe younger women like that distant, elusive, selfish type, maybe I did once, but hell, we grow up. Nothing is more exciting to me than sweetness and thoughtfulness. Someone who’s actually interested in my day, that would make me swoon. Someone who is smart and creative and funny and sweet, thoughtful and kind, I’m placing my order for that on Amazon.com right away, I hope I get free 2-day shipping, OkCupid isn’t coming through.
My garage door entered the afterlife after all the springs and cables burst the other day. After wedging it open, the door is so clearly rotted, shredding, and falling apart it doesn’t make sense to fix it and I’m not spending my sparse cash on a garage door, no thank you, that is way too depressing a purchase. I’m just going to staple up a tarp and call it a day. I suppose if someone wants to steal my broom and rakes there’s nothing I can do to stop them. And, I do love using my staple gun, so I don’t mind. After wrenching the door open last weekend from where it's not planning on closing, I finally got some yardwork done and the tall one was great about helping and did things in a much more adult way. We had a lot of limbs down that needed to be cut up and carted out to the curb and instead of tossing two into a yard waste bin and saying it was full because they were criss-crossed, I saw packed bins filled with vertical sticks and my heart breathed a sigh of relief. Progress.
Yesterday, the 13-year old got frustrated with homework, I don’t really blame him, the assignment was stupid and annoying and from my point of view pretty useless, but none the less, the laws of life dictate that little boys and girls must do their homework. He’s been coping really well with homework this year, we’ve had our moments, but suddenly, he regressed, five, eight years and was grabbing furniture cushions and throwing them around. Unacceptable and I told him to go up to his room to calm down. He usually won’t go, but he stomped up there and I let him cool down. When I went up to check, he was asleep in bed, half covered in a blanket, dresser drawers on the floor and an entire roll of toilet paper strewn across his room. A for effort, it was quite a sight, that boy gets shit done. I thought he’d sleep through the night, but he got up, chilled out and practiced the trumpet. It was really strange, such a sudden and powerful regression, I haven’t seen a fit like that in some time and it makes me realize I should be appreciative of how easy life has become. I have a trash can full of vertical sticks and fits are way outside the norm.
The trumpet teacher showed up for boy’s first lesson, messy and dishelveled, wearing a Doctor Who sweatshirt among other geeky accessories and when I opened the door and saw her I wanted to cry. I greeted her with “oh my god, you’re one of us, come in.” And it all went famously from there. I have been witness to actual voluntary practicing and now I can’t get the elephant march from the Jungle Book out of my head.
I can’t believe there is no school for six days straight. Boys will go to their dads for one of them, the rest they’re with me... how is that not reflected in the child support guidelines? I’m wrestling with the same paradox and I have to stop, it is what it is and being perpetually annoyed serves no purpose.
I know a lot of people have met folks on dating sites, but I don’t think it’s for me. I’ve found the conversations I’ve had unsettlingly disjointed and empty and there’s just too much flotsam to shuffle through. I don’t have the time or dedication to spend hours pouring over profiles, there’s too much real life out there. I've found the process alienating and I get more fulfillment from cleaning out my attic and plotting my next project, party or trip. I'm going to leave the dating sites behind, and anyone who is in a decent relationship, rejoice, work hard, be creative, otherwise, you’ll be spending your late nights reading profiles like the following. At least it's entertaining, although I find his "safe passion rule" a bit extreme, although, mercifully, he isn't looking for that "one special lady to wine and dine."
Centered, cultured, cultivatad but a bit edgy &wild, stable, dedicated, peaceful & happy.
I love education, but more importantly: inspiration, or delicious quality excitement. The seduction of mind AND body.
My "follow your bliss" formula: Creative bold expressive sensuous teasing
Letting go preconceived notions.
The Safe Passion Rule: No coitus or oral, but complete honest exchange of feelings & desires... open up the mind; celebrate the body; divine hotness! No holding back.
NOW is a time of randy experimentation & exploration. "Wham bam thank you ma'm" or "Whir blur thank you sir" is pointless. Let's cultivate boldness & butterflies! Enjoy surrendering & sharing our thoughts, feelings & fantasies without fear. Let's create our own paths; not be shackled by self-imposed boring prisons. "TRUST yourself! Then you will know how to live!" (Goethe)
"Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!"
(from The Psalm of Life by Longfellow)
What I’m doing with my life
My work is a bit too esoteric & unique for discussion here now :)
Self employed since 1985. I'm trained as a writer and ran my own publishing company. Also a certified physical fitness specialist - very advanced with 35 years professional experience & owned several fitness businesses. Certified in nutrition & experienced in epdimiology. Certified chef; owned & operated a gourmet school.
Currently own another unique established business of own creation.
"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."- Henry David Thoreau
"Who rises late must trot all day" - American Proverb
"Men {and women} sometimes stumble over the truth but they pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing happened" -W Churchill
"I have endeavored to show that medicine is not only not necessary but injurious to all mankind" - Gandhi
"Medicine is designed to amuse the patient while nature cures the disease"- Voltalire
I’m really good at Inspiration.
And I give great massage. hey... even got my own table.
The first things people usually notice about me
They say my Smile, eyes, butt, voice, stature & charisma.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Breaking Bad.
From Omar Khayam, Emerson.... to T Colin Campbell, Joseph Campbell...isaac Asimov...The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, The Art of Sexual Magic by Margot Anand, DH Lawrence, so many more.
The Princess Bride, Tommy,The Big Lebowski, Being There, Phenomenon, Manon of the Spring, Jean De Florette, Seven Beauties, Leap of Faith, Princess Bride, Get Shorty, Reacher, Zohan, Austin Powers,. Star Trek NOT Star Wars. (Star Wars was LAME to someone who had already read ALL the best sci-fi by age 11).
I love Sinatra to Zeppelin & more not heard of.
Tom Barabas, Roul DiBlasio, Pink Floyd, Johhny Cougar Melencamp, classics, ambient space & progressive pieces.Took classical piano lessons nine years as child.
Food: I eat to enhance my life & great enjoyment of it. Not merely gourmand taste or emotional need.
I have long since matured off the perpetual pacifier advancing gracefully to more lasting & fulfilling pleasures than "wine & cheese" or "creme lattes".
As a result I have not suffered even the slightest cold or flu symptom for 12 years in a row. No drugs, pills powders or mumbo jumbo "natural doctor" gimmicks. And so much more...
The six things I could never do without My mom, my friends, my dad (lives in my heart), my passion, my imagination, & tolerance.
Oh. & my super duper deluxe 3D robotic massage chair.
I spend a lot of time thinking about how lucky & blessed I am to be alive.
On a typical Friday night I am
Relaxing at my house after inviting my incredibly youthful & terrific mom over for dinner and a movie.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I was a 130 lb. weakling; beat up almost daily & made fun of & called skinny & "gay" in high school since I moved to LI from a Manhattan private school, and was "smarter" by several years comparison. After sevearl years of self transformation I became a stripper per the encouragement of a female-friend and against my "better nerd judgement".
I’m looking for
Girls who like guys
Ages 40–99
Near me
For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating
You should message me if
The obvious: you like what you see & read.
You like to be inspired.
You like an exciting non traditional guy.
You value the mind & physical body equally. And of course you are sexy & cute!
My garage door entered the afterlife after all the springs and cables burst the other day. After wedging it open, the door is so clearly rotted, shredding, and falling apart it doesn’t make sense to fix it and I’m not spending my sparse cash on a garage door, no thank you, that is way too depressing a purchase. I’m just going to staple up a tarp and call it a day. I suppose if someone wants to steal my broom and rakes there’s nothing I can do to stop them. And, I do love using my staple gun, so I don’t mind. After wrenching the door open last weekend from where it's not planning on closing, I finally got some yardwork done and the tall one was great about helping and did things in a much more adult way. We had a lot of limbs down that needed to be cut up and carted out to the curb and instead of tossing two into a yard waste bin and saying it was full because they were criss-crossed, I saw packed bins filled with vertical sticks and my heart breathed a sigh of relief. Progress.
Yesterday, the 13-year old got frustrated with homework, I don’t really blame him, the assignment was stupid and annoying and from my point of view pretty useless, but none the less, the laws of life dictate that little boys and girls must do their homework. He’s been coping really well with homework this year, we’ve had our moments, but suddenly, he regressed, five, eight years and was grabbing furniture cushions and throwing them around. Unacceptable and I told him to go up to his room to calm down. He usually won’t go, but he stomped up there and I let him cool down. When I went up to check, he was asleep in bed, half covered in a blanket, dresser drawers on the floor and an entire roll of toilet paper strewn across his room. A for effort, it was quite a sight, that boy gets shit done. I thought he’d sleep through the night, but he got up, chilled out and practiced the trumpet. It was really strange, such a sudden and powerful regression, I haven’t seen a fit like that in some time and it makes me realize I should be appreciative of how easy life has become. I have a trash can full of vertical sticks and fits are way outside the norm.
The trumpet teacher showed up for boy’s first lesson, messy and dishelveled, wearing a Doctor Who sweatshirt among other geeky accessories and when I opened the door and saw her I wanted to cry. I greeted her with “oh my god, you’re one of us, come in.” And it all went famously from there. I have been witness to actual voluntary practicing and now I can’t get the elephant march from the Jungle Book out of my head.
I can’t believe there is no school for six days straight. Boys will go to their dads for one of them, the rest they’re with me... how is that not reflected in the child support guidelines? I’m wrestling with the same paradox and I have to stop, it is what it is and being perpetually annoyed serves no purpose.
I know a lot of people have met folks on dating sites, but I don’t think it’s for me. I’ve found the conversations I’ve had unsettlingly disjointed and empty and there’s just too much flotsam to shuffle through. I don’t have the time or dedication to spend hours pouring over profiles, there’s too much real life out there. I've found the process alienating and I get more fulfillment from cleaning out my attic and plotting my next project, party or trip. I'm going to leave the dating sites behind, and anyone who is in a decent relationship, rejoice, work hard, be creative, otherwise, you’ll be spending your late nights reading profiles like the following. At least it's entertaining, although I find his "safe passion rule" a bit extreme, although, mercifully, he isn't looking for that "one special lady to wine and dine."
Centered, cultured, cultivatad but a bit edgy &wild, stable, dedicated, peaceful & happy.
I love education, but more importantly: inspiration, or delicious quality excitement. The seduction of mind AND body.
My "follow your bliss" formula: Creative bold expressive sensuous teasing
Letting go preconceived notions.
The Safe Passion Rule: No coitus or oral, but complete honest exchange of feelings & desires... open up the mind; celebrate the body; divine hotness! No holding back.
NOW is a time of randy experimentation & exploration. "Wham bam thank you ma'm" or "Whir blur thank you sir" is pointless. Let's cultivate boldness & butterflies! Enjoy surrendering & sharing our thoughts, feelings & fantasies without fear. Let's create our own paths; not be shackled by self-imposed boring prisons. "TRUST yourself! Then you will know how to live!" (Goethe)
"Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!"
(from The Psalm of Life by Longfellow)
What I’m doing with my life
My work is a bit too esoteric & unique for discussion here now :)
Self employed since 1985. I'm trained as a writer and ran my own publishing company. Also a certified physical fitness specialist - very advanced with 35 years professional experience & owned several fitness businesses. Certified in nutrition & experienced in epdimiology. Certified chef; owned & operated a gourmet school.
Currently own another unique established business of own creation.
"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."- Henry David Thoreau
"Who rises late must trot all day" - American Proverb
"Men {and women} sometimes stumble over the truth but they pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing happened" -W Churchill
"I have endeavored to show that medicine is not only not necessary but injurious to all mankind" - Gandhi
"Medicine is designed to amuse the patient while nature cures the disease"- Voltalire
I’m really good at Inspiration.
And I give great massage. hey... even got my own table.
The first things people usually notice about me
They say my Smile, eyes, butt, voice, stature & charisma.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Breaking Bad.
From Omar Khayam, Emerson.... to T Colin Campbell, Joseph Campbell...isaac Asimov...The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, The Art of Sexual Magic by Margot Anand, DH Lawrence, so many more.
The Princess Bride, Tommy,The Big Lebowski, Being There, Phenomenon, Manon of the Spring, Jean De Florette, Seven Beauties, Leap of Faith, Princess Bride, Get Shorty, Reacher, Zohan, Austin Powers,. Star Trek NOT Star Wars. (Star Wars was LAME to someone who had already read ALL the best sci-fi by age 11).
I love Sinatra to Zeppelin & more not heard of.
Tom Barabas, Roul DiBlasio, Pink Floyd, Johhny Cougar Melencamp, classics, ambient space & progressive pieces.Took classical piano lessons nine years as child.
Food: I eat to enhance my life & great enjoyment of it. Not merely gourmand taste or emotional need.
I have long since matured off the perpetual pacifier advancing gracefully to more lasting & fulfilling pleasures than "wine & cheese" or "creme lattes".
As a result I have not suffered even the slightest cold or flu symptom for 12 years in a row. No drugs, pills powders or mumbo jumbo "natural doctor" gimmicks. And so much more...
The six things I could never do without My mom, my friends, my dad (lives in my heart), my passion, my imagination, & tolerance.
Oh. & my super duper deluxe 3D robotic massage chair.
I spend a lot of time thinking about how lucky & blessed I am to be alive.
On a typical Friday night I am
Relaxing at my house after inviting my incredibly youthful & terrific mom over for dinner and a movie.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I was a 130 lb. weakling; beat up almost daily & made fun of & called skinny & "gay" in high school since I moved to LI from a Manhattan private school, and was "smarter" by several years comparison. After sevearl years of self transformation I became a stripper per the encouragement of a female-friend and against my "better nerd judgement".
I’m looking for
Girls who like guys
Ages 40–99
Near me
For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating
You should message me if
The obvious: you like what you see & read.
You like to be inspired.
You like an exciting non traditional guy.
You value the mind & physical body equally. And of course you are sexy & cute!
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Premier
I spent the day working on the semi-massive project that is cleaning out my attic. I have a plan, a master plan that I’m motivated to finally pursue since opening last months heating bill. I have a drafty old house sans shred of insulation. I’ll never replace the beauful, old, thick glass windows, but some changes need to be made. I have two nice finished rooms in the attic, but they’re not usable at all in summer because it becomes an inferno that is no match for any fan or air conditioning unit. First I need to have three spots rewired to eliminate the knob and tube wiring. I’ll put a ceiling fan in each room and then insulate up there. I’ve talked to countless people who’ve insulated their attics and they say they can feel the difference the first day and that it’s cooler in the summer and the whole house stays warmer in the winter. I’m down for that.
To prepare, the crawl space closets need to be cleaned out and since I’m doing that, I’ve decided to clear out the space entirely. After that work is done, one room can be a guest room and the other can house a ping-pong table because it’s come to my attention that they’re available in four pieces instead of two and hence the parts will fit up the narrow staircase. Either the tall one can move up to the third floor entirely, or I can use the bedroom as an Air BnB room and make some extra money. I live quite near a hospital, so I think that’s my niche. Out of towners visiting loved ones in the hospital, they can pay me and I’ll take wonderful care of them.
It makes no sense to pay property taxes on a house that I’m not fully using and I am making peace with the fact that I can’t move because logistics are everything, and if I want boy to come home on school vacations and bring friends with him, I need to preserve his familiar space.
Despite there being exactly zero documented cases of house fires caused by knob and tube wiring and insulation, it is illegal to insulate while it’s there. So unfortunately, the knob and tube up there finally has to go.
While dragging things about, I found two boxes filled with letters received over twenty five years. People used to write long letters because of course, there wasn’t email and long distance calls were expensive. Anyone else remember those itemized phone bills that room-mates would have to go through line by line, to see who’s calls were who’s? I was reading a letter from a friend that referenced our mutual friend Susan and another woman Erika. I have no recollection of an Erika so I figured that was someone they both knew. But the next letter I pulled out was to me, from Erika. Apparently I’d just stayed with her in a basement somewhere. I have no recollection of Erika. Then I pulled out a typed note from a guy who I was clearly good friends with at a job. He mentioned the name of the company and a co-worker that we apparently both detested. He was respponding, it appeared to a letter from me, and clearly we were close. His full name was on the envelope and it rings not a single bell. We trust our brains to be the repository of our story, the guardian of our history, our reality. This might be a mistake, I know that my brain, at least, is keeping inferior track of things.
At first I wanted to throw the boxes straight into the trash, nothing has been added to those boxes in many, many years, but ultimately, I couldn’t do it and now I have puzzle after puzzle and many more letters to go through. Nonetheless, I filled my trash and recycling bin, as well as my neighbors and took several bags to Savers. Progress was made, but there is still much to be done.
Dinner has been eaten, red wine consumed, and there is chocolate cake in the fridge for the stroke of 9:00p.m. and the premier of Game of Thrones, be still my heart. I can’t believe that next season boy will be watching at college and I’ll be watching at home. We’ll have to touch base afterwards, we’ve watched every episode together and he won’t let anyone come over and watch with us, it’s our thing. He might have to take a leave of absence from college for GoT season (not). Recapping episodes might be the only reason he calls home, thank you HBO. I never thought I could be this excited about a t.v. show. I've missed you mother of dragons and it will be nice to see you too Jon Snow and of course I wonder what Arya's been up to... valor morghulis.
To prepare, the crawl space closets need to be cleaned out and since I’m doing that, I’ve decided to clear out the space entirely. After that work is done, one room can be a guest room and the other can house a ping-pong table because it’s come to my attention that they’re available in four pieces instead of two and hence the parts will fit up the narrow staircase. Either the tall one can move up to the third floor entirely, or I can use the bedroom as an Air BnB room and make some extra money. I live quite near a hospital, so I think that’s my niche. Out of towners visiting loved ones in the hospital, they can pay me and I’ll take wonderful care of them.
It makes no sense to pay property taxes on a house that I’m not fully using and I am making peace with the fact that I can’t move because logistics are everything, and if I want boy to come home on school vacations and bring friends with him, I need to preserve his familiar space.
Despite there being exactly zero documented cases of house fires caused by knob and tube wiring and insulation, it is illegal to insulate while it’s there. So unfortunately, the knob and tube up there finally has to go.
While dragging things about, I found two boxes filled with letters received over twenty five years. People used to write long letters because of course, there wasn’t email and long distance calls were expensive. Anyone else remember those itemized phone bills that room-mates would have to go through line by line, to see who’s calls were who’s? I was reading a letter from a friend that referenced our mutual friend Susan and another woman Erika. I have no recollection of an Erika so I figured that was someone they both knew. But the next letter I pulled out was to me, from Erika. Apparently I’d just stayed with her in a basement somewhere. I have no recollection of Erika. Then I pulled out a typed note from a guy who I was clearly good friends with at a job. He mentioned the name of the company and a co-worker that we apparently both detested. He was respponding, it appeared to a letter from me, and clearly we were close. His full name was on the envelope and it rings not a single bell. We trust our brains to be the repository of our story, the guardian of our history, our reality. This might be a mistake, I know that my brain, at least, is keeping inferior track of things.
At first I wanted to throw the boxes straight into the trash, nothing has been added to those boxes in many, many years, but ultimately, I couldn’t do it and now I have puzzle after puzzle and many more letters to go through. Nonetheless, I filled my trash and recycling bin, as well as my neighbors and took several bags to Savers. Progress was made, but there is still much to be done.
Dinner has been eaten, red wine consumed, and there is chocolate cake in the fridge for the stroke of 9:00p.m. and the premier of Game of Thrones, be still my heart. I can’t believe that next season boy will be watching at college and I’ll be watching at home. We’ll have to touch base afterwards, we’ve watched every episode together and he won’t let anyone come over and watch with us, it’s our thing. He might have to take a leave of absence from college for GoT season (not). Recapping episodes might be the only reason he calls home, thank you HBO. I never thought I could be this excited about a t.v. show. I've missed you mother of dragons and it will be nice to see you too Jon Snow and of course I wonder what Arya's been up to... valor morghulis.
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