I've just been working this week. Kind of a busy work week for me, but that's okay. Things'll calm down soon enough, and I'll be bored & making up things to do.
I went to my mosaics class with Corinne on Tuesday. Always a pleasure to see Corinne!
I met Tom tonight for a fabulous sidecar (or two) at Acote, along with a bacon, apple, and fontina flatbread that almost brought a tear to my eye.
I'm off to bed soon... and I'm tgif-ing early.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Twosdays.
Busy, busy at work these days -- which is actually my preferance. The workflow 'round here waxes and wanes.
I haven't much to report. No Fun Month (October) is filling up as fast as any other month, despite my intentions. Tonight is Mosaics with Corinne! (tm) night.
I'm past due for a big-ass latte.
That's all, folks!
I haven't much to report. No Fun Month (October) is filling up as fast as any other month, despite my intentions. Tonight is Mosaics with Corinne! (tm) night.
I'm past due for a big-ass latte.
That's all, folks!
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Concert Chat
The Tribute to Jerry Garcia ( a benefit for the Rex Foundation) was swell. It was a beautiful, sunny, day that turned into a crisp night, with six hours of rotating bands and artists performing Jerry songs.
It was cool to see the people who made it, like Donna Jean, the Jerryettes, Merle Saunders (barely able to walk), blue grass folks who sounded good but I don't know there names (Eric knew their names... they played with Jerry in pre-Dead days, and were in New Riders of the Purple Sage).
String Cheese Incident were faithful to several Jerry songs. Trey Antipastio was there, noodling and whatnot. Warren Haynes was the best singer... Jimmy Herring was the best guitarist. Bruce Hornsby didn't bug as much as usual.
It's always nice to see Bill and Mickey. Then there was Ratdog. The only person I ever think shouldn't be singing a Jerry song is Bob. Bob just shouldn't be singing Brokedown Palace. That's all I have to say on the subject.
I would have liked to have seen Phil there, and I thought it odd that Robert Hunter didn't pop up somewhere... but it was still good fun.
I've had some mixed feelings about the Rex Foundation ever since I met a young woman -- a child of a member of the extended Dead familiy -- whose tuition to college was being paid by the Rex Foundation. I didn't seem like a good use of my charity dollars, especially since she seemed rather dumb.
But that was a long, long, time ago.
Between last weekend (Earthdance) and this weekend, I have no idea how many hours of live music we've seen. Bunches, anyway, and that's a good good thing.
It was cool to see the people who made it, like Donna Jean, the Jerryettes, Merle Saunders (barely able to walk), blue grass folks who sounded good but I don't know there names (Eric knew their names... they played with Jerry in pre-Dead days, and were in New Riders of the Purple Sage).
String Cheese Incident were faithful to several Jerry songs. Trey Antipastio was there, noodling and whatnot. Warren Haynes was the best singer... Jimmy Herring was the best guitarist. Bruce Hornsby didn't bug as much as usual.
It's always nice to see Bill and Mickey. Then there was Ratdog. The only person I ever think shouldn't be singing a Jerry song is Bob. Bob just shouldn't be singing Brokedown Palace. That's all I have to say on the subject.
I would have liked to have seen Phil there, and I thought it odd that Robert Hunter didn't pop up somewhere... but it was still good fun.
I've had some mixed feelings about the Rex Foundation ever since I met a young woman -- a child of a member of the extended Dead familiy -- whose tuition to college was being paid by the Rex Foundation. I didn't seem like a good use of my charity dollars, especially since she seemed rather dumb.
But that was a long, long, time ago.
Between last weekend (Earthdance) and this weekend, I have no idea how many hours of live music we've seen. Bunches, anyway, and that's a good good thing.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
No Worries
The title of the previous post is "Creation Myths", and that's what it's about. It's about the stories we're told of our creation. There's a striking difference between the stories Eric and I were told about our mothers' pregnancies.
I don't believe that Eric's mother was blissful and happy for every moment she carried Eric, but that's the story she tells. I don't believe that my mother was on the brink of death every moment she carried me, but that's the story she told.
Them's the facts. I'm just reporting. The story is the story.
As for the rhetorical question -- is it wrong of me to think that my mother might be pleased that I'm dying -- I was just living up to the high standard that was set for me as Unsweet Martha. I don't think she'd be pleased... although I don't think she'd have any idea what to say to me, either.
That is exactly what makes the Second Act so astounding.
I get to live a life that I love with a husband I adore, and it's hard to beat that. The rest of it is pretty far away... not anything I'd typically talk about... and no reason for any faithful blog readers to be alarmed.
It's Thursday evening. Tomorrow is date night, and Saturday is a day-long tribute to Jerry Garcia at the Greek Theater. And Sunday? Sunday is for sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
I don't believe that Eric's mother was blissful and happy for every moment she carried Eric, but that's the story she tells. I don't believe that my mother was on the brink of death every moment she carried me, but that's the story she told.
Them's the facts. I'm just reporting. The story is the story.
As for the rhetorical question -- is it wrong of me to think that my mother might be pleased that I'm dying -- I was just living up to the high standard that was set for me as Unsweet Martha. I don't think she'd be pleased... although I don't think she'd have any idea what to say to me, either.
That is exactly what makes the Second Act so astounding.
I get to live a life that I love with a husband I adore, and it's hard to beat that. The rest of it is pretty far away... not anything I'd typically talk about... and no reason for any faithful blog readers to be alarmed.
It's Thursday evening. Tomorrow is date night, and Saturday is a day-long tribute to Jerry Garcia at the Greek Theater. And Sunday? Sunday is for sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Creation Myths
My brother Mark and I were the youngest of six children -- Mark was fifth and I was sixth. From an early age we both knew that (unlike the four children who preceded us) we were accidents. We knew this because we were told we were accidents, in those words, on numerous occasions. We weren't planned children. We weren't surprise children. We weren't even happy accidents. We were just plain accidents, like stubbed toes or fender benders.
I don't know what stories Mark was told about his days as an accidental fetus. I was told that my mother suffered greatly during her preganancy with me. My mother told me how she suffered. Her doctor told her that she "couldn't" have me -- that she would die if she had me. He offered her an unnamed "out" and she didn't take it, although she never told me why she didn't take it.
Certainly there were many times in my childhood when I wished she had taken it.
She told me that in her previous pregancies she had been busy and energetic and hadn't wanted any help. While she was pregnant with me, however, she was tired and uncomfortable.
Her mother had come to stay with her after the births of her other children, and she'd always been anxious for her mother to leave. But after I was born, she never wanted her mother to leave, because she was so tired and she needed the help.
I was an unpleasant baby. My mother told me so. I cried, and I cried. My parents had never had a child who cried so much. In fact, I was such a bothersome baby that my father nicknamed me "Sweet Martha", which was a joke, because I was sooooo not sweet.
A relative came for a visit while I was an infant. I cried and cried, per usual. My father was walking the floor with me, and called me Sweet Martha, and the relative said, "Sweet Martha my ass!"
Funny, right?
Mark so resented my presence that at the tender age of three he turned off the hot water heater just so my mother couldn't heat my bottle. What a clever little accident he was!
Those are all the stories I have of my infancy. I have those stories, and two photographs -- a pink ribbon in my barely-hair, which my mother told me she put on me simply because my hair was so thin and inconsequential.
The next photograph of me is my Kindergarten picture. My mother complained that I had smiled incorrectly and let the strap of my jumper sag. No other pictures until my sisters' graduation from highschool... a picture of me on the kitchen floor with the dog. I remember my mother yelling at my brother right after he took that picture. He was wasting the film.
Eric's mother has a story to tell, as well. She tells a similar story about each of her three children -- except that with each child, the story gets a little bit better.
Eric's mother didn't believe that she could ever be so lucky as to have a child. She had no reason to believe she couldn't physically have a baby -- she just couldn't imagine that she could be so blessed.
She was overjoyed when she discovered she was pregnant with Eric. She loved being pregnant, loved everything about it, and remembers her pregancies as particularly happy times in her life.
When Eric was born she would hold him and look at him and marvel that she had been so lucky. She says that she could have held any one of her babies forever. She says that sitting with one of her babies in her lap was the best thing in the world.
She couldn't imagine that she could get so lucky again. How could one woman have so much happiness -- to have Eric, and then to have another child? It didn't seem possible. When her second child was born, Eric's mother was again overjoyed. She would look at her, and hold her, and couldn't believe that her life could be so perfect.
Repeat the above with her third child, only multiply her wonder at her own good fortune.
I have wondered many times over the years why my mother didn't accept the abortion that her doctor serepticiously offered her. She wasn't a religious or even a spiritual woman. As far as I can remember, she wasn't even sentimental. But she certainly wanted me to know that she'd decided to have me, and at no small risk to her personal health and well being. Maybe she thought that if I knew about that decision, I would know that ultimately I was wanted, despite what a pain in the ass I was.
Barring an untimely mac truck, it seems likely that the accidental children -- children numbers five and six -- will be first and second to die. It's probably just the universe righting itself. Dams can be repaired, stubbed toes heal, insurance companies pay for fenders to be straightened, and accidental children go away. Is it wrong of me to think that my mother might be pleased? (Sweet Martha, my ass.)
I don't know what stories Mark was told about his days as an accidental fetus. I was told that my mother suffered greatly during her preganancy with me. My mother told me how she suffered. Her doctor told her that she "couldn't" have me -- that she would die if she had me. He offered her an unnamed "out" and she didn't take it, although she never told me why she didn't take it.
Certainly there were many times in my childhood when I wished she had taken it.
She told me that in her previous pregancies she had been busy and energetic and hadn't wanted any help. While she was pregnant with me, however, she was tired and uncomfortable.
Her mother had come to stay with her after the births of her other children, and she'd always been anxious for her mother to leave. But after I was born, she never wanted her mother to leave, because she was so tired and she needed the help.
I was an unpleasant baby. My mother told me so. I cried, and I cried. My parents had never had a child who cried so much. In fact, I was such a bothersome baby that my father nicknamed me "Sweet Martha", which was a joke, because I was sooooo not sweet.
A relative came for a visit while I was an infant. I cried and cried, per usual. My father was walking the floor with me, and called me Sweet Martha, and the relative said, "Sweet Martha my ass!"
Funny, right?
Mark so resented my presence that at the tender age of three he turned off the hot water heater just so my mother couldn't heat my bottle. What a clever little accident he was!
Those are all the stories I have of my infancy. I have those stories, and two photographs -- a pink ribbon in my barely-hair, which my mother told me she put on me simply because my hair was so thin and inconsequential.
The next photograph of me is my Kindergarten picture. My mother complained that I had smiled incorrectly and let the strap of my jumper sag. No other pictures until my sisters' graduation from highschool... a picture of me on the kitchen floor with the dog. I remember my mother yelling at my brother right after he took that picture. He was wasting the film.
Eric's mother has a story to tell, as well. She tells a similar story about each of her three children -- except that with each child, the story gets a little bit better.
Eric's mother didn't believe that she could ever be so lucky as to have a child. She had no reason to believe she couldn't physically have a baby -- she just couldn't imagine that she could be so blessed.
She was overjoyed when she discovered she was pregnant with Eric. She loved being pregnant, loved everything about it, and remembers her pregancies as particularly happy times in her life.
When Eric was born she would hold him and look at him and marvel that she had been so lucky. She says that she could have held any one of her babies forever. She says that sitting with one of her babies in her lap was the best thing in the world.
She couldn't imagine that she could get so lucky again. How could one woman have so much happiness -- to have Eric, and then to have another child? It didn't seem possible. When her second child was born, Eric's mother was again overjoyed. She would look at her, and hold her, and couldn't believe that her life could be so perfect.
Repeat the above with her third child, only multiply her wonder at her own good fortune.
I have wondered many times over the years why my mother didn't accept the abortion that her doctor serepticiously offered her. She wasn't a religious or even a spiritual woman. As far as I can remember, she wasn't even sentimental. But she certainly wanted me to know that she'd decided to have me, and at no small risk to her personal health and well being. Maybe she thought that if I knew about that decision, I would know that ultimately I was wanted, despite what a pain in the ass I was.
Barring an untimely mac truck, it seems likely that the accidental children -- children numbers five and six -- will be first and second to die. It's probably just the universe righting itself. Dams can be repaired, stubbed toes heal, insurance companies pay for fenders to be straightened, and accidental children go away. Is it wrong of me to think that my mother might be pleased? (Sweet Martha, my ass.)
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Home Again
Earthdance was very good. I was able to spend time with my adorable husband (Eric) and good friends (Lisa and Leah), and listen to good music (Zap Mama was my favorite) and even dance, which I didn't think I'd be able to do.
It was a great scene for silliness & chatting & people watching. Also: there was a crazy 2000-person spiral dance free-for-all.
Some physcial limitations aside, it felt like a cancer-free weekend -- or, at least, a cancer-minimized weekend. I felt even keeled about all of it. I only cried once. Mostly I was just happy.
Now, as is always the case after a weekend of big fun and sparkles, I have to figure out how to reintegrate myself into the work-a-day world. Just like the end of the summer, "real life" has already smacked me in the face. So, here we go again.
Tonight I start my mosaics class with Corinne. Eight weeks of arts and crafts -- woo hoo!
Off to work now...
It was a great scene for silliness & chatting & people watching. Also: there was a crazy 2000-person spiral dance free-for-all.
Some physcial limitations aside, it felt like a cancer-free weekend -- or, at least, a cancer-minimized weekend. I felt even keeled about all of it. I only cried once. Mostly I was just happy.
Now, as is always the case after a weekend of big fun and sparkles, I have to figure out how to reintegrate myself into the work-a-day world. Just like the end of the summer, "real life" has already smacked me in the face. So, here we go again.
Tonight I start my mosaics class with Corinne. Eight weeks of arts and crafts -- woo hoo!
Off to work now...
Friday, September 16, 2005
Hiatus
I'm not going to be blogging this weekend (or dancing, either, it seems).
I'll be back on Monday!
Have fun, all!
I'll be back on Monday!
Have fun, all!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Shopping
I went grocery shopping with Eric tonight... getting provisions for the three day music festival we're leaving for tomorrow. I was so tired as we walked through the store that I was practically in a dream state. I free associated among the produce.
It seemed to me that my time was over, and that the world belonged to the children. This didn't bother me one bit. There were children running around the aisles.
I remembered how long, long, ago my new acquaintance Eric told me that something he really liked about me was that I didn't judge people.
I thought he was nuts. I felt about as judgemental as a person could be... but it gave me something to shoot for.
Tonight I'm just tired, and with a lot left to do before bed.
It seemed to me that my time was over, and that the world belonged to the children. This didn't bother me one bit. There were children running around the aisles.
I remembered how long, long, ago my new acquaintance Eric told me that something he really liked about me was that I didn't judge people.
I thought he was nuts. I felt about as judgemental as a person could be... but it gave me something to shoot for.
Tonight I'm just tired, and with a lot left to do before bed.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Stuff
The only problem with having a blog is that people read it. Sometimes people think that I'm sending them messages (which is not the case), and sometimes people respond to things that I write in a way that makes me disinclined to tell the truth.
I write emails to folks from cancer message boards. I sent a long letter to a man yesterday whose wife has breast cancer, and who can't seem to comfort her in the way that she would like. Here's part of what I wrote:
That's all true... but I have to tell you that my day-to-day is very much tied to how my body feels. Right now I'm having increasing pain in my sternum. Conventional wisdom says that more pain = more cancer. My feeling is that more pain may or may not mean more cancer, as my pain has always fluctuated in a way that is atypical of bone mets.
Still, it makes me crazy, because the pain is a heartbeat that pulses cancer... cancer... cancer...
The last three concerts I've attended I was unable to dance. And now, after a month of being pain free, it looks like that I won't be able to dance at the music festival this weekend, which is what I wanted most of all.
Bummer.
No, I'm not going to assume my treatment isn't working, and no I'm not going to go see my onocologist, and no I don't need to be on pain medication.
I'll have scans early in November. Unless things get considerably worse, I'll wait until then to find out if there's been progression. It's very difficult to find equilibrium in a place of "not knowing", but eventually - to one extent or another - that's what we must do.
I write emails to folks from cancer message boards. I sent a long letter to a man yesterday whose wife has breast cancer, and who can't seem to comfort her in the way that she would like. Here's part of what I wrote:
One of the toughest things for me about this illness is that sometimes there are no answers, particular when it comes to what is and isn't related to the disease. You may never be able to connect the dots whenit comes to headaches, back pains, et cetera. She's had surgery, stress, and chemo - it may be related to one, all, or none of thosefactors. It's very difficult to find equilibrium in a place of "not knowing", but eventually - to one extent or another - that's what we must do.
That's all true... but I have to tell you that my day-to-day is very much tied to how my body feels. Right now I'm having increasing pain in my sternum. Conventional wisdom says that more pain = more cancer. My feeling is that more pain may or may not mean more cancer, as my pain has always fluctuated in a way that is atypical of bone mets.
Still, it makes me crazy, because the pain is a heartbeat that pulses cancer... cancer... cancer...
The last three concerts I've attended I was unable to dance. And now, after a month of being pain free, it looks like that I won't be able to dance at the music festival this weekend, which is what I wanted most of all.
Bummer.
No, I'm not going to assume my treatment isn't working, and no I'm not going to go see my onocologist, and no I don't need to be on pain medication.
I'll have scans early in November. Unless things get considerably worse, I'll wait until then to find out if there's been progression. It's very difficult to find equilibrium in a place of "not knowing", but eventually - to one extent or another - that's what we must do.
Monday, September 12, 2005
It's Pajama Day at Eric's School.
He's going to be cute... I can tell.
Eric and I went to dinner at our favorite SF restaurant, Lulu, with Jane on Saturday. On Sunday we hosted a brunch, and we have the leftover quiche, potatoes, ham, bagels, and fruit to prove it. We finished the cake.
September has been a crazyily busy month. Next weekend we're going to a three-day festival in Laytonville. There'll be lots of hippies and rave kids, and at the appointed time, a prayer for peace (mirrored at events around the world).
Busy, busy, and Novemberf is already mostly booked. That is why I'm thinking of instituting a No Fun October. I could use a string of weekends with nothing to do. It's actually a toss-up between No Fun October and naming October "Get Rid of Stuff " month, as I am drowning in junk that really needs to be thrown out or recycled.
I'm not sure I have the constitution for a combined No Fun /Get Rid of Stuff Month (the obvious solution).
The other thing is... I'll be having scans early in November, and my current treatment will be said to be working, or I will have failed it. If I have failed, then are next steps, and next steps will likely not be as pleasant as the current ones.
So... I do have a sense that this is the time to play. I feel too hemmed in for balance or moderation -- but full on busy mode isn't sustainable for me, either.
That's what I have to say this Monday morning.
Eric and I went to dinner at our favorite SF restaurant, Lulu, with Jane on Saturday. On Sunday we hosted a brunch, and we have the leftover quiche, potatoes, ham, bagels, and fruit to prove it. We finished the cake.
September has been a crazyily busy month. Next weekend we're going to a three-day festival in Laytonville. There'll be lots of hippies and rave kids, and at the appointed time, a prayer for peace (mirrored at events around the world).
Busy, busy, and Novemberf is already mostly booked. That is why I'm thinking of instituting a No Fun October. I could use a string of weekends with nothing to do. It's actually a toss-up between No Fun October and naming October "Get Rid of Stuff " month, as I am drowning in junk that really needs to be thrown out or recycled.
I'm not sure I have the constitution for a combined No Fun /Get Rid of Stuff Month (the obvious solution).
The other thing is... I'll be having scans early in November, and my current treatment will be said to be working, or I will have failed it. If I have failed, then are next steps, and next steps will likely not be as pleasant as the current ones.
So... I do have a sense that this is the time to play. I feel too hemmed in for balance or moderation -- but full on busy mode isn't sustainable for me, either.
That's what I have to say this Monday morning.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Friday, thank god.
Eric and I plan dinner parties and vacations. We go to work and eat in restaurants (too often). We read, Eric more than I. In a stunning reversal, Eric reads novels and I read non-fiction.
I used to sit in the backyard and smoke cigarettes and drink red wine. Now I sit in my bedroom and chat online about Christ and cancer, and drink water.
Eric reads the paper and drinks coffee in the mornings. He makes me eggs scrambled w/ feta and hash brown potatoes on the weekends.
We have a color-coded calendar with concerts, festivals, birthdays, dinners, vacations, holidays, camping, et cetera. Life hums along.
Then I feel a twinge in my chest, and everything else falls away.
I don't want to leave Eric alone... or, Eric without me, which will feel alone to him no matter who else is around. Who will take care of him? Who will love him up and remind him how totally absolutely undeniably wonderful he is?
Who will he tell his stories?
It's just too horrible. I just can't stand it, can't stand leaving him, can't stand the thought of it. It's heartbreaking and inevitable. It's the worst part. It's the only real reason I have to curse the fates. A lot of good that'll do.
I used to sit in the backyard and smoke cigarettes and drink red wine. Now I sit in my bedroom and chat online about Christ and cancer, and drink water.
Eric reads the paper and drinks coffee in the mornings. He makes me eggs scrambled w/ feta and hash brown potatoes on the weekends.
We have a color-coded calendar with concerts, festivals, birthdays, dinners, vacations, holidays, camping, et cetera. Life hums along.
Then I feel a twinge in my chest, and everything else falls away.
I don't want to leave Eric alone... or, Eric without me, which will feel alone to him no matter who else is around. Who will take care of him? Who will love him up and remind him how totally absolutely undeniably wonderful he is?
Who will he tell his stories?
It's just too horrible. I just can't stand it, can't stand leaving him, can't stand the thought of it. It's heartbreaking and inevitable. It's the worst part. It's the only real reason I have to curse the fates. A lot of good that'll do.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Bush declared Sept. 16 a national day of prayer and remembrance for Katrina's victims.
A national day of prayer, huh?
What a fucking asshole.
What a fucking asshole.
When Supply Side Economics is your true diety, poor people drown in their beds.
I would like life to be a succession of parties and vacations. I think that's what it must be like for Paris Hilton, although I wouldn't do a straight across trade with her if I had to be Paris Hilton (and not just have the Paris Hilton trappings).
There's an interesting essay in the August Harper's... "The Christian Paradox"... all about how American Christians don't know much about Christianity and don't act very Christian. It's a nice laundry list of Christian hypocrisy but it also posits that things would be much better if Christians were just more Christian. I think, of course, that Christianity itself is a pack of lies based on a pieced-together document of dubious authorship.
But if Americans are going to claim Christianity, I think it'd be nice if they loved their neighbors as theirselves -- per Jesus. That may be happening on an individual basis in New Orleans, but it sure isn't happening overall. And now people are whining about the po' folk being given $2,000 debit cards. What's left unstated is the fear that they'll go spend it on gold teeth and bling bling.
There's an interesting essay in the August Harper's... "The Christian Paradox"... all about how American Christians don't know much about Christianity and don't act very Christian. It's a nice laundry list of Christian hypocrisy but it also posits that things would be much better if Christians were just more Christian. I think, of course, that Christianity itself is a pack of lies based on a pieced-together document of dubious authorship.
But if Americans are going to claim Christianity, I think it'd be nice if they loved their neighbors as theirselves -- per Jesus. That may be happening on an individual basis in New Orleans, but it sure isn't happening overall. And now people are whining about the po' folk being given $2,000 debit cards. What's left unstated is the fear that they'll go spend it on gold teeth and bling bling.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
From an AP story:
Barbara Bush, who accompanied the former presidents on a tour of the Astrodome complex Monday, said the relocation to Houston is "working very well" for some of the poor people forced out of New Orleans.
"What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality," she said during a radio interview with the American Public Media program "Marketplace." "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."
"What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality," she said during a radio interview with the American Public Media program "Marketplace." "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."
Yawn.
It's not a Monday but it sure feels like one.
I had a nice three-day-weekend-monday-off yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, and I have the sunburn to prove it. I went miniature golfing with Janis. It was fun!
So... it was a jam-packed weekend as many of our weekends seem to be.
What I really need is to get more exercise, which at this stage of my life has to be little more than short walks. It's hard to believe that a year ago I was running five days a week, and that four months ago I was going to the gym every other day. Also: that I LIKED those things.
If I instituted a Walk a Mile with Martha Club would anyone participate? I suppose it would be silly to walk a mile and then go get sidecars and croque monsieur.
I had a nice three-day-weekend-monday-off yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, and I have the sunburn to prove it. I went miniature golfing with Janis. It was fun!
So... it was a jam-packed weekend as many of our weekends seem to be.
What I really need is to get more exercise, which at this stage of my life has to be little more than short walks. It's hard to believe that a year ago I was running five days a week, and that four months ago I was going to the gym every other day. Also: that I LIKED those things.
If I instituted a Walk a Mile with Martha Club would anyone participate? I suppose it would be silly to walk a mile and then go get sidecars and croque monsieur.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Are they finally losing their media savvy?
From Reuters:
Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld toured a medical facility at New Orleans' international airport on Sunday. He spoke and shook hands with military and rescue officials but walked right by a dozen refugees lying on stretchers just feet away from him, most of them extremely sick or handicapped.
Weekend stuff
The poker party was very fun last night. Good grub and good friends, and I only lost 30 cents!
Tonight we're having Tom and Corrine over for dinner. I'm doing the cooking, so there's no guarantee that the food will be good (as there is with Eric), but I know the company will be excellent.
Tonight we're having Tom and Corrine over for dinner. I'm doing the cooking, so there's no guarantee that the food will be good (as there is with Eric), but I know the company will be excellent.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Friday
Drinking coffee and watching the news from Louisiana this morning. It's amazing that 72 hours after the hurricane there was no control center or command.
Luckily, Papa John's sent 10,000 pizzas to the Astrodome.
The news coverage is sliding in the oil direction. The war in Iraq started with oil and hurricane Katrina will end with it. I think about how the people in the midst of it there probably have so much less information than we have. They're just hungry, dirty, grieving... and with no one taking charge, stepping up, or telling them that there's a plan.
I just don't know what to make of it.
We have a busy 3-day weekend planned. Tonight I want to go to a baseball game -- A's vs. Yankees -- but Eric isn't sure he's up for it. Saturday there's a poker party at Janis & Elizabeth's. Sunday Eric and I are hooking up with Tom & Corinne, and on Monday there's a whispered rumor of miniature golf.
Luckily, Papa John's sent 10,000 pizzas to the Astrodome.
The news coverage is sliding in the oil direction. The war in Iraq started with oil and hurricane Katrina will end with it. I think about how the people in the midst of it there probably have so much less information than we have. They're just hungry, dirty, grieving... and with no one taking charge, stepping up, or telling them that there's a plan.
I just don't know what to make of it.
We have a busy 3-day weekend planned. Tonight I want to go to a baseball game -- A's vs. Yankees -- but Eric isn't sure he's up for it. Saturday there's a poker party at Janis & Elizabeth's. Sunday Eric and I are hooking up with Tom & Corinne, and on Monday there's a whispered rumor of miniature golf.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Surgeon sez...
The surgeon says that just because my recent ct scan doesn't show cancer somewhere, doesn't mean that there's not cancer there, because ct scan miss LOTS of things.
Now there's a comforting thought!
Anyway... I'm taking a "wait and see" attitude with the swelling at my clavicle. Further testing would be invasive (behind bone), and would tell us if it's cancerous. Since I have known cancer, this really isn't vital information.
If it gets larger, it's worth checking out, because that would mean that I'm failing my current treatment. (Remember... we fail the treatment, not the other way around!)
If it stays the same or gets smaller it means that a) It's cancer and the treatment is successful or b) it's not cancer, it's something else entirely, and it's going away.
There's not enough time in the morning to read my email, drink coffee and write this blog! Oh why must I be hampered by work work work!
Now there's a comforting thought!
Anyway... I'm taking a "wait and see" attitude with the swelling at my clavicle. Further testing would be invasive (behind bone), and would tell us if it's cancerous. Since I have known cancer, this really isn't vital information.
If it gets larger, it's worth checking out, because that would mean that I'm failing my current treatment. (Remember... we fail the treatment, not the other way around!)
If it stays the same or gets smaller it means that a) It's cancer and the treatment is successful or b) it's not cancer, it's something else entirely, and it's going away.
There's not enough time in the morning to read my email, drink coffee and write this blog! Oh why must I be hampered by work work work!
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