Sugar on Snow

Tonight we will go to a Sugar on Snow party at the town hall, to be followed by a contra dance. Here is the description from wikipedia:

"Maple taffy (sometimes maple taffee in English-speaking Canada, tire d'érable in French-speaking Canada; also sugar on snow in the United States) is a confection made by boiling maple sap past the point where it would form maple syrup but not so long that it becomes maple butter or maple sugar. It is part of traditional culture in Quebec and northern New England. In both Québec and Northern New England, it is poured onto the snow and then lifted either with a small wooden stick, such as a popsicle stick, or a metal dinner fork. The event in New England is called a sugar on now party, and the soft candy is traditionally served with yeast-risen donuts, sour dill pickles, and coffee. The pickles and coffee serve to counter the intense sweetness of the candy."

Today we will start our official training for the Avon Walk. We both registered last night. If you want to donate, you can do it online. Here is the link to my page:

http://www.avonwalk.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1770&px=4598171

Here is the link to Mark's personal Avon Walk page:

http://www.avonwalk.org/goto/mark.natale

We did register our "team" as Lola in Wonderland. There are a few more steps to set up the team page -- we need to hear back from Avon about what to do next. So if you want to join our team as a walker (and raise your own $1800 minimum) I'll post that as soon as I have the information.

This feels like the right response to my most excellent news this week, a clean bill of health.

image: wikipedia

Avon Walk for Breast Cancer

Now that I have a clean bill of health, Mark and I have decided to sign up for the Boston Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. It will be in mid-May. I hope to register tonight. You can form a "team" with at least 2 walkers. What will we call our team? Lola In Wonderland! Each team member commits to raising $1800 in donations. If you don't raise the money, you can't actually do the walk. But you're not responsible for it, either. So if you raise, say, $1500, you can't walk but you don't get charged for the $300 that is short. Once we register I'll have a better sense of how it works. So if anyone wants to walk with us, you can register with our team. You can't walk unless you register. And of course we would welcome any donations. We will each get an individual home page and a team page as well.

Now we'll need to get a pedometer and get walking!

Details tomorrow.

Auntie

My aunt is here with us tonight. Some of you may remember her. I've always referred to her as "AM" as in Aunt Marty. She is my dad's oldest sister. She comes to town as she moves between their houses. She comes alone as many of us "kids" are estranged from her husband, my "difficult" uncle. In the winter they ski in Vermont, summer on Cape Cod and in between are in South Carolina. It's always a treat when she comes. She normally eats a boring American diet, so when she's with us, she busts out with "exotic" food. Tonight we had Vietnamese which might be new to her. It's really fun to see her enjoying herself so much.

I still feel pretty spent from the fun of NYC and the drama of yesterday.

The Vixen said something new yesterday that I forgot to write. She said that there's a very small chance, like 5%, that I may never have a recurrence of cancer. I actually was very heartened by that. Wouldn't that be great?

While at the hospital, Lucy picked up a brochure for the Avon Walk for the Cure event. It will be in Boston in mid-May. Mark looked into it, and I'm seriously considering doing it. To walk, I'd need to raise at least $1800. I'd actually like to create a team. Each teammate would need to raise $1800. Anyone interested in this idea?

Free and Clear

Oh, what a relief. The Vixen threw open the door and announced, "everything looks great". Lucy and I teared up, then high-fived. We were both in a state of high anxiety while we waited for The Vixen. Lucy felt like she might vomit, I felt like my guts had turned to water. I was holding much more anxiety about this than I initially perceived.

We spent literally all day at the hospitals, shuffling between Brigham and Women's Hospital and Dana Farber. We arrived at 8am and I got home just before 5pm. I am exhausted. 6 appointments in all. I was shot up with some radioactive compound for the bone scan and drank some vile barium sulphate for the CT scan. I got another shot of Lupron (shuts down the estrogen) and a 15 minute infusion of Zometa.

The Vixen was her wonderful self. We had prepared a few questions for her which she easily fielded. I had been scheduled to get a breast MRI next month, but she said to cancel it. We will treat the cancer "systemically" rather than "locally". I won't see the surgeon again, either. She playfully said that I have more chance of dying on the Feng Wah bus than from cancer. (The Feng Wah has quite a bad reputation!) She said that I'd better stay off the bus -- or she'll be really pissed! We left relieved and grateful to her.

We also spent some time talking to Chris the Buddhist chaplain at the Dana. He makes a point of seeking out patients on their appointment days. It's wonderful to be able to discuss metta with someone in that setting. Between The Vixen and Chris, a visit to the Dana is a looked-forward to experience.

Lucy is teaching me what it means to be a devoted friend. She has been just amazing. I remember my dad saying that if you can count the number of your true friends on one hand, that you are a lucky person. I am clearly a lucky person.

Next visit will be in 1 month for blood work, Zometa and Lupron. "The usual". I won't get scanned again for 3-4 months. I hope that next time will be easier. I feel very fortunate that all is well.

Image: Lucy, Suzanne and I yesterday at the Feng Wah "bus station" in New York, i.e. junky old chairs on the sidewalk.

A Day in NYC

What a most excellent day. Lucy and I were on the 8am Feng Wah bus to NYC, and returned on the 5:30pm. It's about 4 hours each way. We had a wonderful time. This image was taken in the lobby of the Guggenheim Museum. It's late, and my appointments start at 8am tomorrow. Lucy is staying over and will go with me for the marathon of appointments tomorrow.

We had lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant in Chinatown, then took the 4/5/6 train uptown to the Guggenheim. We both really enjoyed the show entitled "The Third Mind: American Artists Contemplate Asia, 1860–1989". Here's the blurb from their web site: "This exhibition traces how Asian art, literature, and philosophy were transmitted and transformed within American cultural and intellectual currents, influencing the articulation of new visual and conceptual languages. It explores how American art evolved through a process of appropriation and integration of Asian sources that developed from the 1860s through the 1980s, when globalization came to eclipse earlier, more deliberate modes of cultural transmission and reception. While Europe has long been recognized as the font of mainstream American art movements, the exhibition explores an alternative lineage of creative culture that is aligned with America's Pacific vista—Asia."

Some surprising pieces were included by Georgia O'Keefe, Yoko Ono, a film by Andy Warhol. It was a conceptual show which more or less worked, although some of the pieces didn't really seem to fit the theme of how American artists were affected by Asia.

One security guard was particularly friendly, Errol. We asked him about the coffee in the cafe, which moved on to where to get the best sandwich in New York, and from there he insisted that we take his phone number and call next time we are in New York. He said he'll get us free passes to the Guggenheim as well as the Jewish Museum, AND will take us out to lunch. He was a hoot. Lucy said she would be sure to tell Mark all about it.

We made our way back to Chinatown, and met up with Suzanne for a little visit. We all worked together about 25 years ago. It was a wonderful day, a great distraction from tomorrow.

I thank you all for your warm wishes and prayers that all may be well tomorrow.

Inner Nobility

My sister gave me a copy of Jack Kornfield's book, "The Wise Heart". He organizes the book around 26 principles of Buddhist psychology. The first is, "see the inner nobility and beauty of all human beings". Many of the chapters include an exercise. Usually I find self-help techniques really annoying, but what he suggests is quite sophisticated and intriguing (and challenging). In this chapter, he suggests that today you set an intention that throughout the day you will look for the goodness in three people. That you notice how your intention affects your interactions. Then you choose five other days to do this practice. Then you might move on to seeing the inner goodness for a whole day with as many people as you can. When you have done the best you can for a day, choose one day a week to continue this practice for a month or two. If that all goes well, you can "go through the day as if you were the Dalai Lama undercover", including strangers and difficult people until you acknowledge and bless all whom you meet.

I'm struggling with a situation at work over the last few weeks, so am not by any means "practicing what I preach". But I aspire to! In this particular situation, I am not seeing the other person in all their goodness. I have been focused on what's not right and am caught in anger, judgment and frustration. Reading these kinds of books reminds me to take the higher road, to let go of my aversion, to see the big picture. Oh, were it so simple!

Image: lola

Bless This House

Last fall Lucy had given me a set of Tibetan prayer flags that I just hung on the tree of our little country home.

We had a wonderful weekend with Mike and Kande which included a lot of outdoor activity. Yesterday we took a long snow shoe in the morning, followed by a long walk in the afternoon. We must all have cabin fever, this late in the winter. Today we took another snow shoe. We had to leave early as another big storm was coming in, but we didn't leave early enough. We had to ask a neighbor farmer to tow one car up our very steep hill with his very big diesel tractor. I so admire country people -- they know how to manage anything!

Lucy and I are planning a day trip to NYC on Tuesday. We intend to take the Chinese bus from Boston to NYC Chinatown, spend the afternoon at the Guggenheim Museum, shop/explore a little in the East Village, and head back in the late afternoon. I am so excited about this little adventure. She will then spend the night at our house, and will go with me to the hospital(s) for a marathon day of tests, consultations, etc.

I am feeling terrific other than an achy feeling in my right hip, on my sitting bone. It's in a different place that the original discomfort. I pray that the sensation is signs of healing, not a new problem. I told my radiation oncologist about it when I was still in treatment and he wasn't concerned. He thought it was mis-alignment after being on crutches for 2 months, but it was never checked out. I hope he was right. I still have sleep problems due to hot flashes but it's manageable. My energy is excellent and I feel full of life.

image: lola

Friday night sushi

Often on Friday nights we drive out west and have dinner at a wonderfully tacky Chinese/Japanese restaurant in Greenfield. I'm no connoisseur, but I think their sushi is wonderful. This weekend Kande and Mike are here with us, a real treat. It's a winter wonderland with a bit of fresh snow so we all anticipate good snow shoeing.

As I left work tonight, I thought, wow, I feel lucky. I felt tired, yet satisfied from a good week's work. My work is gratifying and personally meaningful. I began to think about how my relationship to work has shifted over these last months. I am a clinic social worker in health center; our patients are mostly Portuguese-speaking immigrants. When I was first diagnosed, it was hard to concentrate. I felt quite tentative in relation to the patients as my own situation unfolded. I didn't know how to explain my medical leave, nor was able to say with any certainty when I'd return.

What I've found is that my ability to sit with really difficult situations has deepened. My caseload includes a whole variety of types of people. This week I saw so many seriously traumatized people. For some reason at this point it doesn't overwhelm or drain me. I wonder if it's the metta practice? I can tolerate much more without succumbing to hopelessness and despair, or checking out. I am much more able to sit with others' suffering without losing my own center.

Sometime ago I remember reading about the Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg. She wrote that her own teacher Dipa Ma said she was ready to teach at an early age because she already knew a lot about suffering. I don't mean to draw any comparison with Sharon Salzberg, but I do think that going through this health crisis has deepened my ability to work with others. My work has become an opportunity, an extension of formal metta practice.

More Shepard Fairey

I've been seeing a lot of art these last few weeks. Last night Mark and I went to the Museum of Fine Arts, and tonight I was back at the Institute of Contemporary Art with Roxy to see the Shepard Fairey show for the second time. Roxy and I were roommates about a million years ago and still love to get together for art outings. She, too, loved the show. Mark was crazy about it. The place was absolutely packed, maybe because they have free admission on Thursdays. In any case, it was heartening to see so many people out enjoying themselves in these tough economic times.

As we entered the exhibit, we listened in on a lecture given by a young women to a group of teens. She asked if they knew what "WWF" stood for and they mostly nodded "yes". [World Wrestling Federation] Next she asked what "posse" means [Fairey uses it frequently in titles of his work]. They didn't know what that meant; she defined it as "rolling deep", a hip-hop term meaning having a big group of friends. Roxy and I cracked up, because we didn't initially know whether she said "rolling" or "rowing", much less what she meant by "posse". We later asked one of the teens to fill us in. To us, the association was with 1960's tv shows such as "Gunsmoke". That made me feel incredibly middle-aged and so not-hip.

I am well and happy. I am a month out of radiation, and feel a full return of energy, just as Dr. Mauch promised.


Image: Shepard Fairey

Roses are Red

Mark totally surprised me today. After a lunch meeting, I walked into my office and found that he had sent two dozen long-stemmed red roses! They are absolutely beautiful. He was kind of out of commission over the weekend due to a cold, so it was a belated Valentine's gift. Whenever anyone gets flowers delivered at work, it creates quite a stir.

Tonight we will go see a show at the Museum of Fine Arts. The MFA has a new gallery, entirely committed to photography. Mark has a rekindled interest in photography and has wanted to see this show for a while.

I was writing about individual experience/universal experience yesterday, and found this today:

"Seeing the suffering in the world around us and in our own bodies and minds, we begin to understand suffering not only as an individual problem, but as a universal experience. It is one of the aspects of being alive."

--Joseph Goldstein, Seeking the Heart of Wisdom

The more I see my situation as less about "me" and more about the human condition, the less I suffer. When I focus on how to respond to this crisis, rather than dwell on why it happened to me personally, I feel more inner spaciousness. I feel at choice. Like Sylvia Boorstein writes, pain is inevitable but suffering is optional.

image: www.superghostblogger.com

when ego is lost, limit is lost

I had dinner with Claire tonight, and she served yogi tea. This little fortune was attached to my tea bag. It ties in really well with the book I'm reading, Jack Kornfield's "The Wise Heart". One of the Buddhist concepts that has always been extremely hard for me to understand and embrace is the idea of "non-self". Reading this book has been helpful. In western psychology, having a strong "ego" is critical to one's mental health. It provides the organizing function of the mind. It's a good, healthy thing. In Buddhist psychology, "ego" describes states of clinging and identification that leads to self-importance and self-centeredness. Release from identification with self brings freedom, compassion and joy.

I have been thinking about my willingness to expose myself in writing this blog. What I've come up with is that while my story is extremely personal, it is also universal. Yes, this is happening to me personally. In a way it's a tragedy, to be facing a much-shortened life expectancy. But at the same time, it's a universal story. We all know that we will get sick and die, but at the same time we live in a strange state of denial. I'd feel differently if I were the only one facing my own mortality, but guess what? We all are. Therefore I don't feel so "special"; it's not about "me". When I think about my mortality from a universal perspective, I suffer much less. It gives me a sense of inner freedom. Limitless.

Johnny's Seeds

Johnny's Seeds is an organic seed company in Winslow, Maine as well as the title of a collage I made last year. Anna Salmeron now owns it, a friend and artist from East Boston. We are ordering seeds today for this year's garden which for any gardener is a big excitement. Our friends Karen and Sayward are on sabbatical so we are ordering calendula for them which we will plant. In the fall they will use it in their healing salve. We will also order several varieties of beets for Irene. I will hand carry them across international borders when I visit her in June in Brazil.

We both have the long weekend off from work so are enjoying an extra day in the country. Snow shoeing 3 days in a row -- what a treat. I've started a new triptych. Two of the pieces are 20"x24", the other is 12"x16". I am working on burlap which is an interesting surface. This series will be in a fresh green palette. I love starting new work. I walk in and out of the studio many times to just look. It gives me a thrill. I am still fascinated by the process, how something arises out of nothing.

I want to share a quote that resonates with me. I heard/read it in the past, but it's always stuck with me.

"The First Noble Truth declares unflinchingly, straight out, that pain is inherent in life itself just because everything is changing. The Second Noble Truth explains that suffering is what happens when we struggle with whatever our life experience is rather than accepting and opening to our experience with wise and compassionate response. From this point of view, there's a big difference between pain and suffering. Pain is inevitable; lives come with pain. Suffering is not inevitable. If suffering is what happens when we struggle with our experience because of our inability to accept it, then suffering is an optional extra."

- Sylvia Boorstein, It's Easier Than You Think

snow shoeing

The title of this image is "couple snowshoeing, 1907. Isn't that a romantic photograph? I love the woman in the long black skirt and that their backs are to the viewer. Yesterday I had a wonderful experience. Mark still has a cold, so I went alone. We still have a foot of snow here with a thick coat of ice. The sky was bright blue, sun shining, not too cold. I feel so free in the woods. The forest floor is full of dropped needles and bits of leaves and pine cones. There were some small animal tracks, squirrels and larger tracks as well. Sometimes we see tracks of coyote or fisher cat. I hope not to run into those. There are also bears but I have never seen one here. I was able to complete the full loop which felt like a real accomplishment. It is very, very hilly here so I got a real workout.

Yesterday was what I'd call a "perfect" day. A perfect day for me starts with a strong cup of coffee. It includes art studio time, yoga and meditation practice, cooking, outdoor exercise, social time. What makes it so "perfect" of course has to do with what we choose to do with our precious time, but also our ability to be present. How much time do we spend going through the motions but not really paying attention? This quality of attention is what I now strive for, whether it's in formal yoga or meditation practice, snow shoeing or being with other people. The only regrets should be our lack of paying attention, rather than which road we did or didn't take,

image from www.archives.gov.on.ca

Caring for Ourselves

The snow looks good, still quite deep. I can't wait to go out and play on snow shoes. Our friends Julie and Brian are driving up from New York and will be here for a late lunch. Julie and I went to graduate school together. It's been way too long since we've seen each other so it's a much-anticipated (and long planned) treat. Tonight we have reservations for dinner with Karma and Jeff at an old inn in Vermont. I feel many-times blessed.

"The practice of metta (lovingkindness), uncovering the force of love that can uproot fear, anger, and guilt, begins with befriending ourselves. The foundation of metta practice is to know how to be our own friend. According to the Buddha, "You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." How few of us embrace ourselves in this way! With metta practice we uncover the possibility of truly respecting ourselves. We discover, as Walt Whitman put it, "I am larger and better than I thought. I did not think I held so much goodness."

--Sharon Salzberg, Lovingkindness

Taza Chocolate

It's Valentine's, and I went shopping after work at a friend's organic chocolate factory in the neighborhood where I work. We're friends with Larry, one of the founders. His company is Taza Chocolate, www.tazachocolate.com. I was lucky to run into him so we could catch up a bit. I picked up a few bars of one of their new products. It's wonderful to see a local business thriving -- with a green and sustainable mission.

In contract, I also walked to a mall at lunch today which is always a surreal experience. I went to Macy's for something for Mark. The place was stuffed with merchandise, everything marked down. Significantly. I got to the checkout, and was told that they were taking another 35% off. I love getting a good deal, but I found the extremely low prices and glut of merchandise rather unnerving. I came home with 3 shirts for about $25. Two were made by Perry Ellis and the other another well-known brand. Since when can you get brand name clothing for rock bottom prices? It just doesn't feel right. Stores seem empty of people, so many places going out of business. It seems ominous. I am quite worried about the overall economy. We are still both working, but Mark's company had a big lay-off this week and my hospital will be cutting 300 jobs in the next few months. Many friends are losing jobs. These are strange times.

I came across the following a few days ago. He beautifully describes the gift of being present, of being in one's body.

"Most of the time we go through the day, through our activities, our work, our relationships, our conversations, and very rarely do we ground ourselves in an awareness of our bodies. We are lost in our thoughts, our feelings, our emotions, our stories, our plans.

A very simple guide or check on this state of being lost is to pay attention to those times when you feel like you are rushing. Rushing does not have to do with speed. You can rush moving slowly, and you can rush moving quickly. We are rushing when we feel as if we are toppling forward. Our minds run ahead of ourselves; they are out there where we want to get to, instead of being settled back in our bodies. The feeling of rushing is good feedback. Whenever we are not present, right then, in that situation, we should stop and take a few deep breaths. Settle into the body again. Feel yourself sitting. Feel the step of the walk. Be in your body.

The Buddha made a very powerful statement about this: "Mindfulness of the body leads to nirvana." Such awareness is not a superficial practice. Mindfulness of the body keeps us present."

-- Joseph Goldstein, Transforming the Mind, Healing the World.

Maria Says

The scans are scheduled for Wednesday 2/25. I will be at appointments all day starting at 8am and finishing at 3:30pm. 6 different appointments in all. Thanks Bill Clinton for the Family Medical Leave Act which gives up to 12 weeks per year for taking care of oneself, rather than vacation time. I will see The Vixen in the early afternoon, presumably giving enough time for the images to be read. I won't say much more about this until it's over, but needless to say I'm quite anxious about this particular piece.

In the meantime I focus on having as much fun as possible. Today I met Annie for lunch. Annie and I met many years ago through yoga. She continues to teach. She is a beautiful spirit who has also had some recent health challenges. We are both artists and yoginis, so we had a wonderful time catching up.

Tonight I went to visit The Angels. I very happily ate (many of) my sister's magical oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and sat on the kitchen floor, putting together a puzzle with the little one. I had on another Buddha necklace that she's not seen before, and she insisted on wearing it around. The middle one, Luke, is an UNO fanatic so I played cards, too. Shayna is learning to write so there's a big emphasis on homework. It feeds my soul to be with them.

My sister told me an interesting thing. There's a woman who cleans at the University, named Maria. Apparently Maria is a psychic and has been following my situation. She emphatically told my sister today that God is with me and that I will be fine. I hope that what Maria says is true! My sister and I spend a lot of time pondering what will happen to my health. We're both usually pretty intuitive but neither of us is getting a clear sense of this situation. We agree that whatever it is, I will be an outlier. Either a really quick demise or I'll outlive everyone.

image: Lola sketchbook

Scans scheduled

It's time for me to be scanned again, CT of chest, abdomen and pelvis and a bone scan. I called The Vixen's office today and am waiting for my specific times, but it will be between now and 2/25 when I next see her. This makes me really, really nervous. The obvious purpose is to see whether they can see any new tumors. Looking for trouble, looking for cancer. Last time I got scanned I was so naive. I somehow didn't realize that having a significant number of positive lymph nodes could be a problem. I was totally shocked when the results came back, showing a metastasis to the hip. This time I fully understand why it's being done and that I am at high risk of more problems at any time.

In the meantime, I am getting my life back to normal. Tonight I went to a meeting in East Boston as I've re-joined a cooperative gallery. I got recruited to be on the steering committee and some other tasks as well. The group has a lot of new members so there is lots of energy and plans in the works.

The last couple of nights Mark and I have gone for long, fast walks and it feels wonderful. We will head out to the country for the weekend and I can't wait to do more snow shoeing.

Image: Lola sketchbook

A Quiver of the Heart

Sharon Salzberg has a new publication, The Kindness Handbook: A Practical Companion. There is an article in this month's Tricycle Magazine about it. I'm focusing on some of the highlights. She writes, "Compassion is known in Buddhist teaching as the quivering of the heart in response to pain or suffering... Compassion allows us to use our own pain and the pain of others as a vehicle for connection. This is a delicate and profound path... Compassion manifests in us as the offering of kindness, rather than withdrawal. Because compassion is a state of mind that is itself open, abundant and inclusive, it allows us to meet pain more directly. With direct seeing, we know that we are not alone when in pain. Seeing our oneness is the beginning of our compassion, and it allows use to reach beyond aversion and separation. Compassion is like a mirror into which we can always look. It is like a stream that steadily carries us. It is like a cleansing fire that continually transforms us."

Metta practice is a very direct way to train oneself to open to compassion. This week I have been focusing on "may we all be safe and protected...", working my way through the 4 phrases. I find it the most challenging category. It's mind-blowing. I am easily overwhelmed at times, at others unable to focus. It can also make me feel ungrounded, or really small. I am overwhelmed when I think about suffering on a grand scale. Like the movie I saw last week about the genocide of refugees in Lebanon in 1982. Or the current conflict between Israel and the Palestinians. Or the bush fires in Australia. Or the number of people losing their jobs. In spite of how difficult it is, I am deeply moved by this aspect of practice. There is a different energy that's hard to describe. It feels heavy, so serious. Maybe it's what Ms. Salzberg describes as the quivering heart.

Today I was able to speak for the first time with Greg who I met at radiation. He has stage 4 brain cancer. He said it's fine to write about him. He had misplaced my card which is why I hadn't heard from him. I was wondering how he is as I send metta to him every morning. He said he prays for me every day, too. We connected the very first time we met. There must be something about having advanced cancer. Usually when I go to the 'normal' doctor's, I don't make eye contact with anyone, much less speak. When you're in radiation or in the infusion room at Dana Farber, the usual social rules don't apply. The connections are palpable. I don't feel sorry for him, nor does he feel sorry for me. What I do feel is admiration for how he lives his life. His voice is strong and clear, full of enthusiasm. Wanting to know how I am, sharing everything about his situation. He, too, has been writing daily since the day of his diagnosis. We plan to meet next time he is in town for treatment.

Compassion. Meeting each other with no aversion, delusion or greed. Heart to heart. Just as we are.

Image: Lola sketchbook

Why Write?

Writing this blog has been a curious activity. Susan Sontag's preface to "Epitaph for a Small Winner" addresses auto-biographical writing. She writes, "the autobiographer tacitly agrees that there is something unseemly, brazen, in volunteering to write at length about oneself -- exposing oneself to unknown others". She made that comment in 1990, almost 2 decades before blogs, u-tube and twitter. All of these ways that we volunteer to expose our private lives. My aunt Marty is an occasional reader and is horrified that I do this. Maybe in part because her husband is my "difficult person", although she's never said anything about that.

I've kept a journal since I was 10 years old. I started because our family went on vacation, and the teacher assigned homework in the form of a daily journal. We lived in a small town and I remember my dad telling me that the only reason I was asked to write a journal is so that the nosy teacher could know what we were up to. When I was 17 my drunken, crazed now-deceased step-father (my step-mother's husband) found my journal and read through it. It's surprising that I ever wrote anything again after that. I paid dearly for that.

So why would I do this now? Knowing that anyone can stumble upon this? Why couldn't all this just be private, written only for myself? The truth is I don't really know. Something compels me to keep writing. Even when nothing is really happening. Today was a very ordinary day at work. I slept in so didn't have time to do both practices. I did backbends this morning and will do meditation this evening. Routine, normal life.

Epitaph of a Small Winner

I had the most symbolically rich dream that I feel compelled to share. I was in Wellesley, Massachusetts where I actually lived for my last year of high school. I was on Route 9, a busy highway. I was high school age. It started when I noticed my dad's Harley Davison motorcycle parked. I decided that it would be really fun and adventurous to take it for a west-bound ride, even though I had never done so before and knew he would be angry that I did. I was barely able to get on as it was a really wide seat. I hit the ignition switch and pulled into traffic. I noticed that my right hand was on the left handlebar and visa versa, but I was able to switch hands into correct position without losing control of the bike. That happened twice. I also noticed that the gas tank was on empty. I thought I would fill it up on the way back. It was wonderfully free, other than fear of getting run over by a semi that appeared behind me at one point -- the driver slowed down so I was safe. I didn't go too far, I was looking for the next exit ramp so I could turn around and go home. Then I woke up. It was not an upsetting dream; it actually felt quite empowering. I felt at choice -- to take the bike in spite of probably getting in trouble. To seek freedom but not danger. I felt fear, yet the world was supportive. I thought that although my dad might be angry, he would be proud of my daring. The dream seems to symbolize my cancer journey.

I have started to read "Epitaph of a Small Winner" by Machado de Assis which my Brazilian friend Irene gave me when she was here in Boston last month. It was published in 1880 and the back cover describes it as "quite possibily the greatest novel you have never heard of". The forward was written by Susan Sontag. The book is written in the first person; the narrator is dead and speaks from beyond the grave. She describes it as "posthumous reminiscences... written in the first person". I have only read the first few chapters but will comment more on Ms. Sontag's forward another time as it relates to this blog.

The Rose Museum

I feel more desire to be out and about than usual -- and I usually go out a lot. It has given me enormous pleasure to be with friends, one-on-one or in groups. Last night Mark and I felt in the thick of things by attending the ICA on opening night. The crowd was oh-so-young and oh-so-hip. We both loved the show. Mark ponied up $25 to buy a Shepard Fairey t-shirt. And $60 for the book as well. Being able to buy "product" from an anti-establishment artist is a contradiction in terms. No photography allowed, although he appropriates most of his images. At 9pm (when we left) the whole first floor was turned into a nightclub; the artist himself was expected to show up as a guest DJ. I read that attendees paid as much as $500 per ticket to attend. I read in the paper this morning that he was unable to attend as there were 2 outstanding warrants for him arrest, and he was arrested outside the museum around 10:30pm. Exciting stuff!

Today I met up with Liz for coffee, then after that went to the Rose Museum at Brandeis University with Karen and Chou. The museum has been in the news over the last 10 days as they are considering whether to sell their entire art collection. The university is struggling financially so one proposal is to sell the art. There was a big article about it in the Wall Street Journal on Thursday. One of the shows was Hans Hoffman, work that he completed in 1950. It paints large-scale in a very dynamic palette. It was inspiring to see.

Image: Sketch - Chimbote Mosaic Cross, 1950, Oil on panel: 84 x 35 - ¾ inches. 213 x 91 cm, Courtesy of the Renate, Hans and Maria Hofmann Trust.

Looking Inward, Seeing Outward

In the spring 2009 issue of Tricycle magazine, I found a wonderful piece by Reginald Ray. It's an excerpt from his book "Touching Enlightenment: Finding Realization in the Body". I've copied out just a few sentences which spoke to me as I read them this morning. He writes, "Buddhism is nothing other than a set of practices to open up the mysteries of the human heart and the deepest realities of our human experience as those exist, uniquely in us, right at this moment... the more we fathom our own hearts, the more we find there the being of others and, beyond that, the very heart of the world itself... All of this is about becoming who we are in the deepest sense and about surrendering to what creation is asking of us and needing from us just now."

So far I have been exploring the "compassion" side of the practice through metta meditation which opens our hearts, and yet to explore the "wisdom" side through vipassana. I am intrigued what he means by "the very heart of the world itself". My meditation teacher Narayan returns soon from her month-long retreat in Myanmar this week. I have many, many questions for her. One of which whether to keep working with metta, or to take on the other set of practices.

This week was the first in many months with no medical appointments. It felt good to devote myself to clinical work and lots of socializing in the evenings. Last night I attended an opening in East Boston at Atlantic Works Gallery. It was well-attended and vibrant. I am happy that I made the decision to return after a 1-year hiatus. It was a real pleasure to participate in conversations such as how a photograph should be interesting to view at various distances. Or the merits of different framing choices.

Tonight Mark and I are going to the Institute of Contemporary Art to see the Shepard Fairey show which opens tonight. He is known recently as the artist who made the Obama "hope" graphic images. Here is a description of the show:

The first museum survey of one of the most influential street artists of our time

From humble beginnings as a defiant, skateboard-obsessed art student pasting homemade stickers, Shepard Fairey has developed into one of the most influential street artists of our time. Despite breaking many of the spoken and unspoken rules of contemporary art and culture, his work is now seen in museums and galleries, as well as the worlds of graphic design and signature apparel. His multi-faceted, open-ended and generous artistic practice actively resists categorization. Building off of precedents set by artists such as Andy Warhol and Keith Haring, Fairey shifts easily between the realms of fine, commercial, and even political art.

Fairey's multi-layered renderings of counter-cultural revolutionaries and rap, punk and rock stars, as well as updated and re-imagined propaganda-style posters, carry his signature graphic style, marked by his frequent use of black, white, and red. Recently, his portrait of Barack Obama, a ubiquitous sight on the campaign trail, drew a new level of attention to the artist's work and was recently acquired by the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC, for its collection.

Shepard Fairey: Supply and Demand traces the development of the artist's career, from the earliest Obey imagery through his latest efforts, and includes screen prints, stencils, stickers, rubylith illustrations, collages, and works on wood, metal, and canvas. The artist is also creating a new mural for the ICA and public art works at sites around Boston.

More on "Waltz With Bashir"

Re-connecting with old friends has been one of the silver linings of my life these last months. Today a friend from graduate school is driving up from Hartford to spend some time together. I was going to take a (very) long lunch, but I was sick last night throwing up so will take the morning off as well. Nothing to worry about (I hope) but nowadays every little thing makes me wonder if I should pay attention, or disregard as I usually have.

The film we saw last night was very powerful and I continue to think about it. There were many themes, but one thing that resonated with me is memory and trauma. There is no comparison between the experience of a soldier and a civilian, yet trauma of course is on a continuum. Like the filmmaker in the film, I, too, have many memory gaps. I spent most of my 20's kind of numbed out, trying to figure out what to do with myself on every level. I remember often feeling bored, restless. I also did a lot of "partying". Once I started to practice yoga, all that began to shift. I began to feel grounded, physically and mentally -- slowly and incrementally. And when I started formal meditation last March, the transformation really began to deepen. These practices have given me such good tools. I am so grateful that I was able to heed an intuition that led me to where I needed to go.

If I had gotten sick with cancer earlier in my life, it would have been a very different experience. If it had to happen, I'm glad it's now and not back then. I now believe that our lives are an opportunity to grow spiritually. We're all in training, like it or not. From time to time we all get a wake-up call. Maybe several. It's then up to each of us to respond. To take the higher road, to grow in unimaginable ways.

Image: lola sketchbook

"Waltz with Bashir"

I finished radiation almost 3 weeks ago, yet continue to notice weird side effects. The skin on my right groin is discolored, almost mottled, and peeling. Quite unsightly! It doesn't burn, itch or anything. It just looks weird. I was told that the radiation continues to "work" up to 4 weeks after the last treatment, and that my skin could still react anytime during these 4 weeks.

Oh, and yea, the hot flashes. It's kind of embarrassing when it happens with patients in the room, and kind of entertaining with friends. I have taken to wearing easily-removed layers, so it's easier to cool off. I wonder what it will be like in the summer?

Tonight Cynthia and I met up for dinner, then went to see a very intense film, "Waltz With Bashir". It's an Israeli animated film which tells the story of a filmmaker who was a soldier 20 years earlier. He met a friend who had PTSD symptoms. The filmmaker realized that unlike his friend, he had no memories whatsoever of the war in Lebanon, so he struck out to re-connect with his war buddies to reconstruct his experiences. Gradually he began to remember and the film culminated in actual footage of a massacre that he had been involved in, albeit from a distance.

At the clinic today I had a first interview with a patient who has also had breast cancer. It was surreal to read the synopsis of her health issues prior to the session, and to sit with that in the room. 6 months ago reviewing her record would have been gibberish. Now I understand the language of breast cancer all too well.

Image: Lola's sketchbook

An Apple Full of Juice

I just finished reading "BOOBS", A Bunch of Outrageous Breast-cancer Survivors. Suzzy had sent it when I first got diagnosed. I've been reading it slowly, the kind of book that you read in the bathroom. It is a collection of stories written by breast cancer patients who attended a support group in Atlanta. It was published in 2004. It sobered me as two out the ten women had stage 4 breast cancer, and both died.

I spent the weekend with my sister and her family and we took long, cold, windy walks on the beach. We spent a lot of time wondering aloud how long I might live, and how this might affect her own life planning. At this point I don't have any sense of what might happen going forward. Initially I had a strong sense (when it was thought to be just lumpectomy and radiation) that I would be totally fine, now I really don't know. Reading those stories was chilling. Although I feel excellent, I have to acknowledge that I am very much at risk for recurrence. It's a strange way to live.

Someone I work with, a medical provider, said that having stage 4 cancer is not a big deal, that we can all be "hit by a bus" anytime. So that my situation is the same as anyone else's. It continues to surprise me, the strange and insensitive things that people say. The way that my radiation oncologist described it is more apt, "maddening uncertainty".

I continue to be inspired by Buddhist teachings. I want to live like an apple full of juice.
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What is the experience of true compassion? While recognizing mind essence, there's some sense of being wide awake and free. At the same time, there's some tenderness that arises without any cause or condition. There is a deep-felt sense of being tender. Not sad in a depressed way, but tender, and somewhat delighted at the same time. There's a mixture. There's no sadness for oneself. Nor is there sadness for anyone in particular either. It's like being saturated with juice, just like an apple is full of juice.

-Tsoknyi Rinpoche, “Dissolving the Confusion,” Spring 1999 Tricycle


Image: Lola sketchbook

Wanted: new banner

Not writing feels so weird, so I'll continue. I have loved this process, this new way of communication. I write for myself, yet doing it also helps me feel connected to others who may be reading along. I get so much wonderful feedback. Several of my friends mothers read it, too. Mark told me that he gave the link to a friend of his from high school who has had a mastectomy as well. I really hope that this growing document keeps me in touch with far-flung friend and family, but can be of some value, some inspiration to others whacked by adversity.

Today I mailed the collage entitled "Morphology" to Christiane who asked to buy it. She is a college friend. We studied Russian together. That piece has lots of Russian text in it, taken from books that I no longer use. Even though she didn't realize that the piece contained Russian, she was drawn to it, and loved the syncronicity of it. The image has been the banner on this blog since the beginning. So now that it's sold, I have asked Lucy to choose another image. Let's see what she comes up with. So the be ready for a new look.

While at the post office I ran into the clerk that I sent metta to regularly. All this time I thought her name was MaryAnn or MaryBeth, so I was quite surprised that he name tag reads "Karen". I haven't actually seen her in all these months so it was really funny to see her in person. I had this urge to say, "did you know that I send metta to you regularly, that you are my 'neutral person'?". Of course I didn't do it, but the thought came to mind.

My body alignment feels funky, so I look forward to taking a yoga class tomorrow night with friends. I haven't been taking classes for the last 5 years or so, but have been working on my own, every morning. I have never used a mirror so don't have that kind of visual feedback. I really could use some help after several months on crutches.


Image: Lola's sketchbook

4157

For the first time in 120 daily posts, I've got nothing in mind to write about today. It has been such an intense 6 months. But now everything has stabilized. It's kind of back to life as usual. As they say in cancer circles, "the new normal". Working full-time at the same job for 10 years; my daily practices; actively making art more regularly. Health-wise I will continue monthly visits for the hormone injection and infusion, then will be scanned every 3 months.

I don't want to write just for the sake of doing it; I'd like to write if I've got something substantial to share. So I'll think about whether to continue this daily and maybe drop off the regularity.

Today's image is from my sketch book. The title is "4157" as it was made April 15, 2007. Kande spent that long weekend with us, Patriot's Day. There was an enormous snowstorm on the Sunday and we were debating whether to stay and weather it out, or head back to the city. We ended up staying and taking a glorious snow shoe in very heavy snow. As we walked along, a huge tree fell maybe 20 feet in front of us, a "widow-maker". If it had fallen on one of us, it could have been fatal. That's the story behind that particular piece.