Bits of Your Past that come creeping back.

REGINA CREED, may she land in a room of fabric.  

I have a new rule in my life.  If I think of someone, I reach out.  I am finding that this is a mixed bag.  Sometimes, the soul you seek has moved on, and the search is fruitless. Sometimes, they pick up the phone.  Sometimes, you call, and there is no answer.  That happened to me today.  I left a message and called my friend's sister.  Regina will not be calling me back.

I have known her since I taught in Dietrich, Idaho, in 1977. She worked part-time at B Dalton Bookstore at the Blue Lake Mall in Twin Falls, Idaho. She was a tiny little thing with excellent knowledge and seemed much older than me.  She was recently divorced and had left four sons with her ex-husband in San Francisco.  As I reflect, I realize just how lonely and lost she was then.  She seemed such a powerhouse.  

I left teaching, she returned to The City, and we had contact over the years.  Each took time to reach out and spend time with the other.  I visited San Francisco, and she visited Seattle. She helped me learn to quilt and started me on a journey of exploration, fabric purchasing and other such sins. When I visited, we always sought out the eclectic bookstores and hinkie Asian restaurants.  

She was very devoted to her children and created a life that made sense for her over the years. She had a wonderful rent-controlled apartment in the Richmond neighborhood.  Regina loved her grandchildren and thrived on finding the perfect piece of fabric with small figures scattered around.  She taught me so much. We had chances to visit over the years.  She came to Seattle, and I went to San Francisco.

Regina and her sister taught me to quilt.  It started with one Sun Bonnet and entered a sort of obsession stage.  It has been a magical obsession and has provided so much joy.  

I will miss Regina.  She was wise and wittily guided me, and she shared her quilting obsession and great suggestions for books and movies. She also taught me how to make a simple stir-fry sauce.   I will miss her.  I know she is still hanging around, and I hope she knows she made a difference in many lives.  

I have now figured out what time away from Seattle really feels like.

Circumstances took us to Seattle this last weekend.  Family wedding, memorial service for a longtime friend of Mary-E's, and much-needed shopping at places such as Met Market and Pike Place.  Now, Spokane is not a food desert.  We have the luxury of Yokes; they will order just about anything.  It's just a different vibe.  It is the abundance of variety.  Everyone should have to choose between fourteen varieties of peaches. Such a presentation of choice is good for the soul but not the pocketbook.  

We were lucky to have a nice warm weekend and some time to figure out what to do next.  Sometimes deck time is a good thing. I have realized my tolerance for traffic has waned.  I'm still pretty good at getting around and sneaking into the right lane but it is more of a challenge.  I reflect back to 1986 when I moved to Seattle and found a much less crazy environment. As growth and progress changed, adaptations were made to accommodate the new issues.  They forgot to ask me what I needed and how to best make me happy. I guess the city has moved on, and I am still sort of stuck with memories. I still miss a good bookstore at U Village.  Greenwood Market was the best. No one should need to pay for parking at Nordstrom Rack. 

My life has been one of change and acceptance of that change.  My first real job was in Dietrich, Idaho, which has a population of 84.  Leaving law school and vowing never to do another divorce.  [Don't ever tempt the goddess.]  Marriage, remarriage, one child, second child, a creature named Leukemia that came to stay way past its pull date. Moving into my 8th decade with some class and enthusiasm, but not as much energy. Wondering what adventure lies ahead. I am not one that trusts the universe with too much faith but I am still going to move forward. As we all should....

It Has Been A Year, and What a Year.

(Clearly, I have been working on this post for a while. We really are in March 2021. I began o write this post in August of last year. )

We have arrived in the first week of August 2020. Summer slowly made itself known, but now it is going to start slipping away.  We are watching the tomatoes ripen, the baby Siskins are growing, and the hummingbirds fight with each other over the best feeder. 

We also realize our old world is gone.  We are not going back to "normal."  The virus has its clutches tightly wrapped around the entire world.  A stupid microscopic item that invades our bodies and wreaks havoc on every system. Lungs, brain, blood vessels.  Unknown, but still there, revealing itself insidiously.  It has blindsided the world as it crept into our consciousness and our lives in the latter part of December 2019.

I heard about it in late December and realized it was a problem. I often hear weird things that others don't notice.   I had a profoundly sinking feeling as I was listening to the bits and pieces of the news.  In the back of my mind, I heard my father's voice and it was warning the world.  Being a doctor who worked around the world during his career, he knew and saw small micro-organisms' invasive nature.  He was horrified when some researchers were planning to exhume a body in Alaska of someone that had died of the Spanish Flu or when they made the decision not to destroy the last remaining smallpox cultures.  As a Doctor of the world, he was aware of the power of an epidemic.  Every time there was a start of a viral outbreak,  my dad would worry a bit scratch a lot, and then breathe when the feared outbreak did not appear. 

With the news, I instantly overreact. When the first death hit Washington State, I mobilized.   My leukemia and bone marrow transplant training went into overdrive.  I'm an old hand at believing every single person carried some pathogen able to destroy Mary-Elizabeth and how to keep it at bay.   Locking down was not a difficult thing—sort of like riding a bicycle.  I know where to clean and what to wipe down.  I don't feel bad about asking someone to use hand sanitizer when they come into the house and later to wear a mask.  Never do I apologize about asking someone to exit my personal bubble and take their germs elsewhere. 

I didn't rush out for toilet paper and water.  I made sure everyone had ample supplies of things made in China.  Medications for three months for Mary-Elizabeth if Trump shut down trade.  Coffee for the early mornings. Good books less Amazon decided not to ship "non-essential" items.  You know, the important things.  

The Pandemic took away lots of the business out of our lives.  I find such quiet times create space for long-overdue organizing.  Sewing, reading, writing, baking, correspondence, long talks on the phone.  Time to really figure out what is going on in the garden.  A chance to see the myriad of birds that briefly visit but often go unnoticed.  A big slow down.  Nothing on the calendar but time.  

It hasn't been easy for everyone.  Many of our fellow humans are not very capable of spending time with themselves.  It makes them frantic. I learned long ago that I liked myself and my own company.  I also know I am blessed. I am lucky because I have someone with whom to spend this quiet time. I am even luckier that I like him as much as I like myself—the time is a good thing. 

15 years ago, I remember what it was like to be the only one I knew that was in a bubble. I remember our calendar before diagnosis and then what it looked like after.  Lots and lots of "negative space."  The whole world continued to plan and meet and enjoy life's little pleasures.  We were very much alone.  I so remember those first few months of cancer treatment when it seemed endless.  It seemed like it would never end.  We had a 2.5-year treatment possibility, but then we knew there were years of follow-up and dealing with side-effects and the side-effects of the treatments for side-effects.  I don't even want to think about Relapse, but that is an entire tangent. 

For me, it is all about the unknown.  The "what's next: when will the next shoe/piano/astroid drop??? You find after a few weeks, stress becomes part of your DNA.  It hangs on like bad moss in a swamp. Not knowing makes everyone just a little bit crazy.  

This virus has ahold of the world, and we have a long way to go.  Promises of Vaccines.  Promises of Control. Promises of successful treatments.  It is all is too much.  

I learned that I just needed to focus on the next hour, the next day, and maybe if things are going well. next week.  No plans to be made.  Just now.  Just this moment. This breath. This glance out the window.  

While the big world begins to shrink as people die, the observations of our view grew. Did you know that we have Goldfinches most of the time, but they are different flocks?  The ones that spent the summer with us have fled.  We have new visitors.  They seem to have a slight British Columbia accent.  They have stopped by for a few pounds of seed as they prepare to venture further South.  We have fattened them up for their journey.  They will soon

leave, and then those from way up up north will come for the winter.  They will hang around and provide lots of good entertainment.  Bits of flashy yellow and lots of chirps make the mornings special. 

It Really Has Been Nine Years

 We are heading to the day.  The day I consider the most important.  It was the day when there was concrete proof the transplant had worked.  There were balloons and there were cheers and there were orange slices on the day of the actual transplant, but I wanted to know that the cells had taken hold.  I wanted to know it was working. 

Mary-Elizabeth is 9 years out.  She has more than 3285 days from the times of such despair.  She has finished college.  She has become a fully employed human being.  She has faced so many many struggles with Post-Transplant B.S.  She has grown into an amazingly funny, smart, thoughtful human being.  The transplant really was a miracle. I enjoy every day that she is with us.  Every day that she calls to complain that she looks bad in a swimsuit.  Every day that she shares her chocolate chip cookies. Every day that she reaches out to check-in and just tells me she loves me. Every day that she is on this side of the world of reality, it is a better world. 

I keep ending this blog.  I don't add to it much anymore.  I guess I should say that I have over a 150 unpublished posts. I sometimes question whether or not it is time to make a bold step out of this world of reflection and maybe focus on something else.  I am coming to realize that even if I try, I won't/can not make a grand exit.  It's not a choice to stay in Cancer World, even if on the edges.  

It just hangs there.  Not like the big flat overwhelming clouds currently gently dropping some Valentine shaped snow flakes, but the kind that you catch out of the corner of your eye.  The little bit of fluff on the horizon that doesn't seem to be going anywhere\.

Nine Years.  

Two Old Dogs and The Rainbow Bridge

Picture two old dogs sitting on a porch.  One is a graying a Scottie, the other an old Shitzu.  Both on soft blankets, overlooking a green yard and trees with a big rainbow in the distance.

Gizmo: Hey, see that blob of color?

Tucker: Not really, I have not been able to really see for some time or hear or run or properly chase a cat far. Hey, I am 14 years old and you are 17.  You do not even have both eyes!  I am surprised you can see anything.

Gizmo:  I guess I am sort of blind. Not that my eye was very useful at the time the weird lady took it away. But boy can I still smell good things like other dog’s butts and when there is food on the table.

Tucker: Have you noticed that every time our person takes us to that lady in the place that smells bad and they do mean things to us, they discuss how long we have on this side of the bridge? I have heard my person talk about something called the Rainbow Bridge. I cannot see color on a good day so why would I have to go there?  I know that rainbows come after thunderstorms, so I am not a fan.  If it were made for us, it would be covered in  pieces of meat and carrots and bones and chocolates and maybe some roast beef.

Gizmo:  When my person talks about it, he seems so sad also.  What do you know about it the bridge?

Tucker:  Well when my person mentions  it  she gets those wet blobs in her eyes and her eyes leak. 

Gizmo: But they say good things about it, so I am confused.  If it is such a good place, why are they sad?

Tucker:  I think it is because we must go there before they do. I think all we do is go there and wait for them to join us later. Sort of like Doggie Daycare. We get treats and chase balls and I think we get to hear and see and jump and be like we were when we were puppies. I am not sure the cats are there, but I am hoping so and maybe a squirrel or two.  What would you want?

Gizmo:   I would want to bark at every officious interloper and have no one tell me “NO”.  I would want to sit in a warm place in the sun and have everyone tell me what a good dog I am being, even when I bark.  I would want endless Chicken Jerky and not have it taken from me when I put it down for a short nap.    I want to find Otis and have him show me what he has discovered since he was such a great explorer when he was here. 

Tucker:  I think we are closer to being puppies. Do you remember when you first met your person?  They were so big, and it was so confusing.  They made those weird noises with their eating holes and wanted to keep us off the floor and try to keep us close.  They tried to give us strange food and thought we could not find the water place.  I remember I had to meet lots of other things like me.  I had an older sister named Sadie.  She was bossy and would not let me follow her.  She would make her legs go fast and I would think it was a game only to discover she wanted me gone.  She made lots of noises and smelled different.  I used my short legs and I kept up with her.   I also spent hours on end making sure our outdoor space was completely free of a black cat named Lucy.  She was so much fun.  She ran when I barked.  It was a great time.  My head was so big that when I jumped over things, I would just tumble and fall.  Come to think of it, my head is still big!  I have the teeth of a land shark and I am not afraid to use them.

Gizmo: I met my person when my first people had to leave me in a weird cage. My new person found me and took me home. I was not the only child but shared my person with Otis. Otis was a bad bad dog. He looked quiet, sweet, and listened but sometimes, he would get ideas in his head and just go for meandering journeys.  He told me he was just exploring because he had been a dolphin in a former life and could really move.   Otis was insulted that he was so confined in a dog’s body.  That crazy dog would listen enough that he did not have to be on the long string all the time but he was a problem.   Being the doting younger brother, I would just follow.  He told me he was much smarter and wiser than I.  As I look back, we were lucky that we made it back to our person time and time again.  Two 12” dogs wandering, in our neighborhoods, in the woods, down a busy major thoroughfare.  We were quite the pair.  Otis left a few years ago and I am sort of excited to meet up with him again

One of my peeps says I am really a cat.  I have been almost eaten by wild coyotes, fallen in the window well twice, fell into the pond and had to swim for my life and bark at the same time, I also just walked off the porch.    John found me once wandering in the basement.  15 steps down.  I am practiced at rolling.  What about you?

Tucker:  I have cost my peeps thousands of dollars because of my love of food adventures.  Yummy to chocolate, Oreos, chocolate covered almonds, bird suet, rat bait, and of course let us not forget the purple “edibles”.  I edibled three of them.  Boy did that make me crazy for a while.   No one worried about the beer that Lisa Cooper gave me when I was just 8 weeks old.  The can was bigger than my tiny head.

                    My Name is Sir Tucker of Berwick and I am an alcoholic, 

                                a substance abuser AND a chocholic. 

Tucker: Boy, we both have had a great life. I went to college; you explored the world with Otis and John.  I have been fed endless carrots and slept on down comforters and chased squirrels and chipmunks. I kept the yard free of pesky crows.   I have been on long hikes in the woods. I know I am going to go on that last long chase soon.  I will be free to bury my bones and not have to worry about whether they have maggots on them. Just when the bones get good and ripe, I am not allowed to bring them into the house.  It's called Aged.  

Gizmo: My life has been grand. I know my person is going to be incredibly sad for a long time because we are special friends.  I have worked extremely hard to properly train him and he has done a good job.  I wonder if he will still get up at 3 am.  I have been making him give me a peanut butter treat.   I wake up and I am bored, so he gets up with me.  I of course must spend a bunch of time making noise so he will awaken.  That other one refuses in the morning.  She just closes the door and goes back to sleep.

Tucker:  I am a Scotty.  I only really care about one person.  Mary-Elizabeth has been my human.  We are really one person.  She has lots of good friends and a Mom, so she won’t be alone, but I am special to her in another way.   I will go on walks and have dinner and sleep with other people, but she is my person.   She and I graduated from Gonzaga University in Spokane.  I worry about leaving her.  I came to her when she was fighting a big battle with cancer.  Then she did it again.  Lots of her worry was focused on me and then she could focus less on her own worry.  I am proud to say that I have been wonderful for her, but I know my time here is coming to an end.   I can feel it.  I am slowing down.  My brain is weird, and Mary-Elizabeth will not let them poke and prod at me.  She knows it is too hard. 

Gizmo: I guess when we talk, I realize it is going to be okay.  We are going to go ahead and be missed, and they will cry and have lots of those heavy sighs.  We are going someplace incredibly special and we will wait.  We are good at waiting unless it is time for dinner or a walk or bedtime.

Gizmo:  Tucker.  Tucker.  Where did you go? I can tell you aren’t here anymore.

Tucker:   My brain went nuts again.  Mary-Elizabeth held me tight and told me I was going to be okay.  She held me so I could smell her cuz during the Bad Brain things I could not hear or see.  I was terrified but when she held me I was able to relax.  In her quiet way, she told me how good things were going to be. I knew she was there and that she would be okay.  I finally just let go.  I got sleepy and then I just left my stupid old and tired body.

I’m brand-new and have found Sadie and Grandpa John and Wolf and a bunch of friends.  Lucy is here.  I get to chase her but she is still way fast. 

Otis: See you soon

When the Pool Expands

I remember what it was like when they first mentioned a new virus. It was in January. In a lot of ways, felt I was the only person that heard it.  Deep in my gut... a slow-burning sense of dread.  Ever present.  Ever-growing. A feeling I could not shake.  Chocolate didn't help.  A big rich meal and wine did not help. Sleep began to become more difficult.  

A steady beating drum....... It's coming.  It's coming. It's coming........

It's contained.
It won't get to Eastern Washington
It is just like the flu.
It's a left-wing conspiracy. 
It will dissipate in April.

Oh, the quarantined ships, well they are not Americans so they don't count. 

Oh, we are screening everyone that comes into the country.  We let them arrive after hours in close contact and then we screen....hmmm?

No one can come into the country.  Now we don't know if they are positive because we don't have any real testing because this is America.  We are immune to all bad things.  

Oh, we are ready.  I was thinking about ready when I looked up the amount of hospital beds we have in this country.  Less than a million.  

We are fine. We have this under control.

Spreading
Spreading
Death
Spreading

Now what? We all enter my world.  

From the beginning, I was confident I knew how to deal with this.  I spent over seven years facing a world full of pathogens.  Simple things could kill. Simple things did kill.  What you eventually realize is that your mind needs a project to keep from thinking about what is happening to you and yours.  I think as a species we need to think we are "doing something".  Something.  Something to make things better.  The need propels us forward and keeps us sane to a certain extent. But where do you start?

Washing your hands.
Using hand sanitizer when no soap and water were available.  

Wiping down door handles and other surfaces.

Tasering anyone that sneezes in your direction.

Wipe down places people touch.  Door handles, phones, handrails, the outside car handle, the inside car handle.  It all is germy.  Wash all your hand towels every day. With Bleach.  Throw away sponges.  Make everyone that comes in the door use your special home-made hand sanitizer.  When did alcohol begin to smell so bad?

Essentially what happens is a new awareness.  A new appreciation of how many surfaces are lurking out there.  A new form of hyper-vigilance.  Every moment of every day your adrenaline surges through your body.  

You have To bE careful.
You Have to Be careful.
YOu have to be CareFul.

This will be a much cleaner world.  It might not be a much friendlier world.  But at least wiped down and freshly sanitized.

Death and Dying and Why it Sucks

God knows how many tiny lives have been lost.  God knows how many family members have been lost.  God knows how many dear and near friends are going to be leaving in the next few years or in this case weeks or days.   
God should know better.  

So I have a friend.  Her name of Patty.  She and I did not find each other in this life until another friend Nancy made us all go to trivia together about 4 years ago. (Rules about Trivia are a whole other story.  Love you Nancy.)  Patty and I were sisters or brothers or littermates in a former life. We have read the same books, been to the same national parks, like the same foods, and most importantly have the same weird sense of humor.  In this life, we have lived in a lot of the same places and had lots of the same experiences.  Our fathers were doctors, we lived in Michigan, we have both traveled, love road trips and seeing the world's largest ball of string.  I think she was even at the Michigan Women's Festival the year my sister got arrested.  (Another long story to be told later.)  We have come close on many occasions to having our lives intersect. 

Well as fate would have it, we don't get to become better friends because God is not cooperating. She (Not God) has end-stage colon cancer and has decided that spending time with friends and family is more important than sitting with an IV in her arm.  I love this about her. 

The other day it just hit me how deeply deeply sad I was about our aborted time in this realm. We won't be sitting together in the Barking Dog making fun of the guy that runs the Trivia Night.  We won't be able to have a good snicker when all the answers are Teddy Roosevelt.  We won't just hang out and share a good glass of wine or beer or watch the hummingbirds.  She won't ever be able to spend time in our lovely back yard in Eastern Washington watching birds that flock for good food. She won't be taking great pictures of amazing objects. She won't be readily accessible for witty banter and serious conversations.  She won't be around to scoff at my dogs or ever really get to know my co-conspirator. I bet she won't be able to join us on the Mini Road Rally set for this summer. 

 It just makes me so melancholy.  

Patty recently shared a book she wrote about taking care of her mom at the end of her life.  More than a book about her mom, it was a book about her.  About her life. About the ups and downs of being a daughter, a mother, a wife, and a friend.  It was supposed to be about having a failed relationship with her mom. A lot had to do with how she didn't want to be like her mom.  After reading it, I don't think I had the chance to tell that I have never found her to be like her mother.  I have never found her to be more than open and loving and caring. She is practical and direct and no-nonsense about life.  She is a good example of how we grow in our lives and we are not always defined by them. 

So while a lot of us write about people after they have become part of the universe we cannot access without a medium, I wanted to front-load my sorrow and grief.  I am perched above the Pacific Ocean, watching the waves pound the ancient basalt formations.  She is in Hawaii, enjoying time with family.  Our views are very different of the same body of water.  Her's is warm and sunny. Mine is cold and windy and angry with white caps and crashing waves.  Maybe that explains our different states of mind.  

As I just watch the tide coming into shore, I just wanted to suggest we spend more time with those we love and cherish.  Never let and thing go unsaid.  Eat more good pastries and drink good wine.  Read good books and remember Theodore Rosevelt is the answer to way more trivia questions than you can imagine.