The Past

The Past...

What is the past?

Can people change?

Do things really change?

I have been immersed in the world of Bridgeton and the Gilded Age, and I am rewatching Downton Abby again.  I seem so mesmerized by all the dresses, china, silverware, and the dancing. I look at our world, and so much of this sort of thing is gone. We don't even call each other anymore.  While some of it seems a bit over the top, I think we should have some of it back.  I think it would make life a bit better and more civilized. 

Communication

What if we actually wrote letters?  There was a time when it was really the only method of communication.  Most letters started with a mention of the weather, then health.  Some included recent events and even a bit of juicy gossip.  While I would appreciate a well-carved writing desk with a dip pen.  A chance to gaze out and appreciate the well-manicured garden. Sealing wax is probably not needed, but it would really jazz things up. 

A phone call might even be nice. One where one knows a number, picks up a receiver, and dials some numbers.  On the other end, the person answers, only to be surprised to find out who is calling. No auto-dial, no photo appearing on the screen, no number blocking, or auto messaging an excuse as to why the connection must wait. It was just a simple phone call to a friend. 

Maybe we could just drop by for a cup of coffee or a short visit.  Maybe a visit that is spontaneous and not planned in a week.  No expectations of a grand charcuterie board or host of fine pastries.  Just good old coffee and maybe a stale donut.  

As things currently work, our new technology seems to be pushing us further and further apart.  We screen our calls. We set up our communication devices to notify the caller when the phones are on silent. People walk down the street looking at their phones wearing large noise cancelling head phones.  We are drifting further and further away from each other. Ease of communication has become isolation. 

Somehow, we no longer talk to each other, ask personal questions, or even know the questions to ask. I am a question asker.  I ask all sorts of things of everyone.  Where do you live? How did you come to live in the Spokane area?  Where did you go to school? Do you have a family?  What's your favorite Asian restaurant? Have you ever done Bloomsday?  Do you remember the winter of 1969? Did you see John Denver at Expo 74?  They go on and on and on.... What I have found is that my daughter is horrified by the litany.  I, in turn, can not believe what she does not ask her friends and co-workers. How do we find out about people if we don't ask them questions, or write letters, or call them?

 Heavy Sigh

Sometimes I just need to purge the angst that floats in my soul. Sometimes one gets so busy they don't have a moment to think.  I have been trying to pay more attention.  Maybe rushing through life and pushing the bad stuff away works better. 

I think this down-and-out feeling on Christmas Eve is just a culmination of a year of imbalance.  I know things have been very disjointed and disorienting for several months.  Things I have valued and learned over the years are evidently not valued by many people.  The loud people.  Those extoling the virtues of hate, intolerance, and basic lack of sympathy.  Judges have been bought. Education is mocked. History is ignored. Science is discredited. The poor are not tolerated.  Immigrants are rounded up and treated like cattle. 

As a history major and a person with an amazing memory for many things (do  you know where my phone is right now?) I am so distressed.  

As I watch things unfold in our world, the distress does not seem to be fading.  It only amps up.  There are so many important things happening in the greater world and in my world. I just wish I had enough fortitude to face it all.  To read the papers, digest the events, and think about the consequences, but the events come so fast and furious that I am unable to even put my head up a bit to look around.  As a result, my world is shrinking.  I read less, go out less, engage with fewer people, sleep more, and watch less.  I find that even while watching something as simple as The Gilded Age, I have to stop when I can see there is going to be some conflict or issue that will make a favorite character uncomfortable.  I have become the child who rewatches the same movie or cartoon over and over because surprise is too much to handle.   Lots and lots of deep breaths are required.  Everything seems to trip me up.  

This entry was started in December and is being finished on April 13, 2026.  See, it is taking way too long to be able to lay out what is going on in my head.  Back to the Gilded Age.  Grandma Foster would have loved all the clothes.  Not that she was around then,

but she was certainly a lover of great fashion. 

I Don't Think We Should Leave Things Unsaid.

 We all seem to have a bunch to say. As John and I are traveling down the road, things just pop into my head.  I contemplate the thought for a moment and then let it travel to some often unreachable part of my brain.

When it resurfaces without prompting, I have decided I need to put it down somewhere.  This blog is a good place to store things. Many, many thoughts have been set down and have been useful at some point. 

So... Saguaro Cacti.  They are amazing and only grow in a specific and limited part of Arizona.  They might grow in other places, but then I would have to do research.  Not today.  

Anyway, back to Saguaro. This year, I checked when they started to appear on our drive from Flagstaff to Tucson. Elevation, 3248. They are fond of southern exposure and don't need much water.  

As a person who has reached 72, I really appreciate how they manage their lives.  First, they don't even bother to develop the iconic arms until well into their 50's.  They spend their first half-century just standing and settling into their lives. They are not being bothered by their offspring's demands. They are just growing and jiving with their friends.  When the time comes, the arms do appear along with flowers and fruit.  Being desert plants, they only bloom at night.  Early on, they realize they must reserve water, and the sun can be harsh in their chosen environment. It simply works for them.  The night-blooming plant limits pollinators.  Bees and birds are not night creatures, but bats excel at pollination. 

As they continue their 250+ years of life, they begin to weaken and eventually fall victim to age and gravity.  But the best part of their life is how they become more useful to the world they inhabit as they age.  Gila Woodpeckers make nests in their flesh and raise their young. The nests later become home to small creatures and Elf Owls.  At the very end, their long spines become tools to harvest the younger compatriots' fruit. What a great life cycle.   

 

We could learn from their example.  Take time to grow and live, enjoy a productive life, and as you leave, continue to contribute.  Make friends with small interesting birds and leave useful tools when you leave. 

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.