Diez Cosas Que Amo de Mi

I have been nominated for an Honest Scrap award by a (far more fit than I) fellow-ess Californian. (I'm guessing the check that comes with the award is in the mail?) I understand the object of this award is for the awardee to post ten scraps of information though I could probably write up ten scraps on anyone much like a psychic would perform a reading.

While I'm waiting for the check to arrive -- below is the list of ten things you probably don't know about me:

When I was 16 years old I volunteered for a local "peace center" and worked at getting people to sign petitions against the war. I also walked door to door trying to get people to sign petitions. I was young, I had a cause though I wasn't exactly sure what it was. I was also a member of Another Mother for Peace though I wasn't a mother at the time.

I was a union steward for the Communication Workers of America. I went to union meetings, filed grievances and saved more than one person from getting fired. I was a bit older, I had a cause. I didn't know exactly what it was. A couple of months ago I was in a coffee shop when a man came in talking about a possible strike with the CWA. I told him I had been a union steward. He shook my hand and thanked me for my service.

I once stood within a few feet of Neil Young, Willy McCovey, and Clint Eastwood, not all at the same time. I didn't have enough courage to say a word to any of them. The last time I was in the presence of a public figure (aside from *you*) I had courage, and we actually conversed.

I am a good cook. In the past I would bake special desserts for holidays though since tackling 

some food addiction issues, I stopped baking for special occasions, and pretty much stopped baking entirely. (I have been known to bake the occasional batch (what is a batch?) of cookies. ( batch = 'how many I can eat in one sitting.') I used to make truffles by the hundreds for holidays gifts though no more. I want to be able to show people that I have love for them without using food. Do you think it's possible?

I love plants and love to garden. My favorite plants are fuchsias. I know a lot about plants in general and can probably identify thousands (or maybe 6 or 7 total) by sight. I once worked for a florist for a year. I applied at a nursery though did not get that job. (I was young. I had a cause etc.)

In the year 2000, the Pew Charitable Trust phoned and asked if I had to time to take a survey? I was annoyed though I agreed. The survey turned out to be about charitable work, community service, spirituality and religious views etc. I was on the phone with the woman for about a half hour and while she asked questions, I realized that I did nothing charitable, I volunteered for nothing, and did no community (or otherwise) service for my fellow human beings. That phone call was transformative. I had been to my own doctor earlier that same week and had picked up an envelope for a local hospice asking for donations or volunteers. I considered volunteering though my first act of charity was sending a check to hospice. My husband, Greg was diagnosed with colon cancer two days later. We used that same hospice service the last few months of Greg's life.

At a political rally I shook hands with Jerry Brown and told him "have fun in Oxnard" (because that was his next stop) while my sister was yelling to someone in the background that I was shaking hands with and talking to Jerry Brown. I almost asked him to come for dinner but chickened out. We were young. We had no cause. We liked Jerry Brown. We were at a rally in San Luis Obispo, CA.

My favorite song writers of all times are Joni Mitchell and Stevie Wonder. They are phenomenal lyricists and musicians.

My sister and I attended Sears Charm School. (Stop laughing!) My mom forced us to go. I still know the 11 step model walk. I can blow those younger models off the runway with my saucy style! Look out --Tyra!

I am related to this woman. She is buried in a graveyard in San Juan Bautista. Do not even think of taking your camera there!

LIVESTRONG Day, Oct 2, 2009

I so like the idea of cooking something yellow (eggs, lemons, lemon bars, lemon brownies, lemon pie, lemon chocolate chip cookies, lemon fudge, lemon chocolate pie) to commemorate LIVESTRONG Day 2009 though I am not a food blogger -- still nothing can keep me away from looking and fantasizing over their blogs. LIVESTRONG Day is October 2nd to coincide with the date Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with cancer 10 years ago. Not to be left out, I was diagnosed two years around this same time.

Since Lance's recovery from cancer he has gone on to win le Tour De Frah-hance, France seven times (!) and just this year he came in third place after a four year break. (What the hell have I been doing? cruising graveyards, blogging, disturbing people, -- long list!)

The foodies and winos have been blogging the LIVESTRONG Day for a few years. I'd like to see as many of us cancer/fitness/health/whatever bloggers as possible work unify our blogwork to support LIVESTRONG Day 2009 as well. Because we aren't foodies or winos (admittedly in our blogs), one way to unify is to write a short post on how cancer has effected your (our) life because I have a feeling it has affected many of our lives in one way or another.

Or you can make me some yellow food and send it over!

Blogging this date (and Fridays are notoriously slow blog days) is one way of supporting the Lance Armstrong Foundation by raising awareness of cancer issues world-wide. It is a way for bloggers to share their stories, poignant, devastating, thrilling, celebratory and triumphant. If you haven't been bulldozed by a cancer diagnosis, you can still participate. Write about a friend or post a prayer.

Then stop by my blog and leave a short comment with a link to your post. I'll put all your comments in a chemo-hat and pick 14 names of folks who will *win* a small though significant LAF token of appreciation for helping us come together to commemorate the day.

Sound like an simple deal? It is as long as you don't have a cancer diagnosis!

This online event is an official LIVESTRONG Day event sanctioned by the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

http://janell-sufferingsuccotash.blogspot.com/

Please cut & paste into your own blogspot so others can show their support for LIVESTRONG Day, Oct 2, 2009.

Grave Mistakes

I went to the graveyard yesterday afternoon to take pictures. It's a privately-owned graveyard. I discovered this rule after the graveyard guy informed me when he hollered at me for taking pictures of the dead. First he said, "Maaaa'm, Kin I hep you!?" I told him "No." I did not need hep. There was no sign indicating "No cameras allowed" I quasi-smarted back to him. I am arguing with a graveyard guy. What next?!

Graveyard Guy is at the graveyard from "sun-up to sun-down and lots of people here don't want their pictures taken!" (I wonder how he knew that?) I told him that my husband's body had been cremated there though that fact carried no weight with this GG. He said, "If your husband is here, you should know better!"

Before my time at the graveyard was interrupted, I took photos.

I was almost going to sit on a bench and meditate though I am really glad I decided against that.

Aside from this, I didn't do much over the weekend. It was simply too hot to move much. Before the great god of fog came in last night and early this morning, my waist-high lymphedema compression hose had melted onto the lower half of my body beneath my clothing and the chocolate chips in the kitchen cupboard melted inside the bag.

Boy, George! Every Day is Like Survival

This morning I'm at work listening to Culture Club (on purpose), ("I know you miss me, I know you miss me, I know you miss me blin-hind...") Good thing I'm working alone. My coworkers are glad too.

I attended buddhist school last night. The magician was there though no mention was made of his theory on how I got cancer. We heard a talk on karma. A bit disturbing - I guess. But I'm not going to let karma ruin my life. (Apparently I've done that already in a previous life!) Like when people come up to a person with a cancer diagnosis and suggest "Hey, you must have caused your cancer because blahblahblah... (fill in the blank with annoying , usually new-age theory having to do with anger, hate, regression, resentment, hate, acrimony, animosity, rage, ire, mistrust, temper, hissy fits, venom, displeasure, vile speech, spinach, tofu, juju, "you asked for it"). According to karma, I caused my cancer. But imagine what karma is doing to those people who say things like that to a cancer patient!? I'm going to pay attention, listen, keep my heart and mind open to the new ideas coming in and see where THAT action gets me in my next life.

(*Brief interuption to greet Jehovah's Witness at the door of the business.*

I walk outside to finish greeting the Jehovah's Witness. I let him know that, despite the loud music, I'm at work. (I don't get into how blogging *is* work.) He's persistent because it's obvious that Boy George works here -- we were singing so loud. If I have time for Boy, I could take the time to read this handy little pamphlet The Secret of Family Happiness according to one of Jehovah's writers. Inside the Awake brochure that JW is scanning for my previewing pleasure, I see an article entitled Do Sinners really Burn in Hell? -- And I say, "I'm sorry but armageddon really tired of you guys bothering me while I'm at work." Then I hurry back inside with Boy, and shut the door.)

("Love is hard to find in the church of the poisoned mind.")

Back to blogging:

One week from today, October 2nd, 2009 is my cancerversary along with Lance's, and the LAF is celebrating with LIVESTRONG Day, a one day initiative to unite people affected by cancer in raising awareness of cancer issues on a global level and in communities across the country. I am celebrating cancer bloggers and anyone who's been involved with cancer by a give-away of LAF products. On that day let's celebrate anyone who knows anyone who's had cancer or anyone who's afraid of getting cancer so that means just about every person on the planet. We're also celebrating the woman who writes After Cancer, Now What? You may not all know her. (I don't either except through her blog.) though I'm happy that she's alive to celebrate another birthday on such an auspicious day.

The reason I keep writing about this LIVESTRONG day is because I want you to join that day by putting the little LAF graphic on your blog. Maybe you can write about your own connection with to cancer or that of a relative. Just do it.

I received a note from a man who has runs the cancer blog. He's considering writing a book about the personal cancer blogging phenomenon and might choose to quote bloggers work though he has more than 600 bloggers to choose from. I'm like a drop in the blog-cean. I hope he feels I've got some writing that is compelling enough to share. I shared this one as an offering when I was at Shambhala Mountain Center. There's the one post about my husband dying. The one about gratitude. (There are many on gratitude.) He could pick from any one of many painful posts. There are some early posts that only my family and close friends read because no one read my blog back then. Maybe there's one you think I should let this author know about? Anything that tickled your funny bone or made you cry? (Maybe THIS post because it's so random.)

Practice Makes Poifect

“Don’t underestimate the things in your life that bring you happiness.”

Pema Chödrön

I went to a compassionate communication class. "What goes on there, stays there" -- so I am not at liberty to mention specifics (lots of juicy gossip) though I will elaborate on how much I enjoy the class content, the instructor, the students; all older people who seem to really want to be in this class. By older I mean, there may be a younger person in their 40s though everyone else seems to be in and beyond midlife. On a Wednesday evening, books in hand, earnest, these students show up, and are committed to a less violent way of speaking to themselves, about themselves and other people. (I will get with the program eventually!) I am stunned by some of the things that take place both within the classroom and outside based on what I have learned.

Sometimes I find myself in a sort of verbal purgatory where I am conscious, yet at a total loss for words -- floating (not quite floating, too big to float) in a space where I cannot speak because I am taking time to consider *how* I will relay my feelings or make a request (specific, do-able & with a time limit). I want to practice what I have learned in conversation yet I find myself wrestling for an explanation as to why I cannot say anything in the moment. I figure if I am conscious yet confused, it's best to keep the sock in it. I don't want what I say to sound canned so instead of canning, I choose mute. This may be one of those "you had to be there" stories though this two hour class flies by, there is laughter, fun and serious situations, sometimes painful, hurtful and human - overall an amazing class. Though perhaps it's only amazing because I finally made the time to put myself in the personal space to take notice.

An incident that happened where I was able to use what I learned took place with regard to my leaving Chris's house on Saturday after our bike ride. The afternoon I spent with him was fine. We shared good conversation and a good meal. Though when it came time to leave, I felt incredible sadness. I didn't want to stay there -- don't get me wrong, the relationship that was, isn't. I felt overcome with a feeling of rejection. But rejection is not a feeling. Rejection is something that we choose. The feeling behind the idea of rejection is sadness. As I was backing my car up to leave, I knew I had a choice about how to feel. I could feel sad which I did and it was okay. Though I was adding drama with the idea of rejection. It was like throwing gasoline on the fire...(ya think?) As I continued driving away, I observed the facts. I was driving away, leaving Chris's house. I felt sad. Okay. But there was no rejection in that. Eventually there will only be driving away and no sadness, and some day there may be no driving away.

I've been listening to Pema Chodron's 'Don't Bite the Hook' -- I am trying her idea of a cheerfulness practice. I don't go around with a fake smile on my face (like usual). This practice is more along the lines of taking notice of positive things; paying attention and filing the things I see, taste or feel that are a pleasant experience -- in my brain. Pema says this will help create a place of warmth and inner strength to help through more difficult times. Plus she says people will want to hang out with me more. (um - ground control to Major Tom -- Help me with the throngs at my door.)

When I'm not in class, and sometimes when I am driving home from school (so don't pull out in front of my car!), I practicing being more alert to the evening sky, the stars, the sound of crickets, the colors of leaves, the way a warm (and I do mean, warm) breeze feels on my skin. Maybe it's the taste of something good to eat - last night it was my favorite soup. Truly making an effort to experience life instead of taking the small things for granted. Pema claims that through this practice we will find ourselves more present in the world, more easily touched by others (and no -- not touched in the head), appreciative and grateful for the beauty in our lives. Anyway, I figure this sort of practice can't hurt me or anyone nearby if I practice it. This cheerfulness practice 'tis a far better thing than the old practice of putting my head in the freezer to see if there's any ice cream.

One person with which I'm very close (my mom) expressed concern about all this practice and compassion that I've taking on. (It's not like I wasn't compassionate before. I just tried to ignore it a bit.) She's a bit worried that I won't be able to be compassionate and still keep a sense of humor. At last night's class, the room shared raucous laughter of our similar criticisms of ourselves and others, depending on the real life situation. We went so far as to act some of them out. (As class clown I'm designated actor too - annoying yet still amusing enough to pass, except to that one guy who sort of made a criticism about my clowning. And now we know why he's in the class.)

It feels as though I could be on to something. I may have discovered a language that allows authenticity and compassion along with humor. This language I'm learning makes me feel as if I have arrived home after a long, dusty trip. So I'll tell you what -- I'm going to strive for enough consciousness and compassion toward myself to see humor as one of those wondrous, joyful occasions I notice throughout my day while trying out this new practice and I bet I do just fine.

POD and Lance - Sitting in a Tree

I visited the oncologist on Monday afternoon. The doctor told me to feel free to call him Michael. (I sure hope that's his name!) I told him I'd recently seen Sid, and have an appointment to see Sam (aka Dr. LePew in mid-Oct0ber). After my echocardiogram, I'll see Tom. I'm not 100% sure about calling doctors by their first name though I'm not into fighting with Michael over it. On a side note -- I've been seeing Michael for 2 years. Why is he granting permission to call him by his first name at this late date? Is this his way of telling me that I might live?

Michael took my blood pressure -- it was slightly elevated which I said was a result of "white coat syndrome" though Michael doesn't wear a white coat. My last visit with Sam, my blood pressure was quite high. Sam doesn't wear a white coat either. I'm always afraid Sam is going to force me to speak french while performing a rectal exam so it's got to be fear that causes the elevated blood pressure - fear of french and rectums. Why do they call it "white coat syndrome"? Perhaps they could call it "doctors who tell you it's okay to call them by their first name after two years of treatment or doctors that request you speak french while performing rectal exams" syndrome? No wonder the blood pressure goes up!

The most probing issue I discussed with Michael was that I'd had an appointment with Sid, and the appointment was pretty much a wash. Sid didn't perform the requisite rectal or the annual pap. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not the norm. Sid needs to go the extra mile for me. Sid needs to treat me more thoroughly than the random vagina on the street. Idle chitchat doesn't cure cancer (and if it did we'd *all* attend support groups.)

Michael advised me to let Sam know that I need someone more experienced with my situation than Sid. Then Michael said to make sure Sam sends any new records to Tom, Sid and himself to keep them all in the loop and handed me paperwork to give to Sam and fax to Sid and Tom. Michael said to make sure that I ask Sam about another CT scan for this year. Michael also said that it looks like I am graduating to the only one CT scan per year -- that it's been 2.5 years since my diagnosis (which isn't true yet -- though I got all excited because I *thought* he was right because he's a doctor and doctors are always right, right?) and that I only need one scan a year unless Sam comes back with a different report.

After I got home, I realized that Michael was wrong. My surgery was almost two years ago the first week of October (next week). The last week of September (this and part of next week) will be my two year cancer diagnosis anniversary (where Sam and Sid both said that I kinda, sorta, maybe had cancer though they didn't really think I did, and if I did have cancer, it would be encapsulated (it wasn't) and not that big of a deal, (and it was) and I wouldn't have to do radiation or chemo and they flat-out lied) and if I did have cancer it would be a cancer that wasn't that bad) (Liars!). (Oops -- wow, calling Sid and Sam both a liar doesn't seem very compassionate -- even to me! I will pay extra attention in class this week.)

So this makes the first week of October my 2nd anniversary of cancer surgery where they took out all my guts and put them in a jar for 'show n tell'. Too bad I'm no longer in kindergarten. I had surgery the day after I returned from an eight day vacation in Hawaii where I spent most of the time hunting for toilets and visiting the Punalu'u bakery. Which by the way, was the highlight of my life so far though you didn't read that here.

And because we both found out about our cancer diagnosis on the same day, Lance and I are celebrating this anniversary on Oct 2, 2009 aka LIVESTRONG Day, a one-day initiative to unite people affected by cancer in raising awareness of cancer issues on a global level and in communities across the country. And you are part of my community. Please come back to visit us on that day. Fridays are always slow anyway. I'll be highlighting other exciting details about cancer (THOSE tidbits you simply cannot miss!), my life post cancer, and my LIVESTRONG(er) life, post treatment, (part of which includes calling my doctors by their first names). Instead of asking for gifts like most young couples (in love) (sorry, Sheryl), Lance and I will be giving gifts away to celebrate the occasion.

Read more about LIVESTRONG and commit to your own event on Oct 2, 2009. (Sorry but visiting the Punalu'u bakery is not an official, sanctioned LIVESTRONG event.)

We unite people to fight cancer believing that unity is strength, knowledge is power and attitude is everything

Lance Armstrong Foundation

Weekend Vantage Point

I took some great photos over the weekend and I feel the need to share them. First there's the picture of booze:

A margatini and a somethingelse-atini.

This is the picture from the bar where we drank the drinks:

The photo looks impressionistic.

There's the barn, the road and the pumpkins. I love me some pumpkin pictures.

What was funny, though kind of sad (sign of the times I suppose) is that I have been eye-balling (verb!?) those pumpkins for about a week, riding by this house. Each time I'd see those pumpkins looking at me, and I'd be looking at them, plotting my photo-taking efforts. I finally committed, pulling onto that road, making a turn-around, parking by the pumpkins and snapping the photo. Later that afternoon the pumpkins were gone. I figured the pumpkin keeper saw me, and thought I was 'up to no good' (nuther verb?) and brought the pumpkins into the house for safekeeping. Probably not a bad idea considering that if I drank enough of those margatinis, I might be brave enough to grab me a punkin and take off running up that road (for about 3 feet) until I was caught by the local constabulary aka the rancher, his rake and six chickens.

Nurture Your Own Garden

Over the weekend I went bike riding with Chris. I had not seen him in a month and had not spoken to him though we share the occasional cryptic email. I had a good time -- riding was successful. The Monterey Jazz Festival did not prevent us from going to our favorite restaurant afterward.

I felt at ease seeing him, much more this time than last. I have tried to focus on things in our relationship for which I am grateful; there were many. I'd be lying if I said I had no anger though I can pinpoint more positive things (now) than anger-inspired rants - just don't let me start drinking.

During a bit of our conversation, Chris mentioned something about my being an angry person though in the past he had mentioned that anger was prevalent in his life and had greatly affected many relationships including work, family and friends. Maybe we were reflecting back onto one another. I'm not sure what I mean by writing that or what I'm really trying to say except there is no one to blame but ourselves. I cannot blame him for being an angry person anymore than he can blame me if we both claim to be angry about things in our past.

If you're lucky -- life goes on past breakups, sadness wains, hearts mend (when you didn't think they ever would!) and your good ole buddy common sense comes back to help you remember that it's not a smart idea to rely on other people for happiness because now that common sense has returned you remember that you were once all by yourself and you will be again. Yet you survive. Maybe Common Sense can be my next lover!?

Since the breakup there has been improvements in my personal well-being and attitude. Having spent nearly 7 years of my life with Chris and his family, I still struggle with feelings of wanting to know that I mattered to them in some way. I felt for the most part that we had a supportive familiar connection and to have that taken away suddenly was almost more than I could bare. From the first time I met Chris, he felt like a lost piece of the family puzzle. I am able to say with much joy that I relished our reunion while it lasted.

My healing continues and that is the absolute best I can hope for.

Karma and Kancer

危機

It is important, therefore, that an individual learn whatever lessons are presented to him at the earliest opportunity, or harsher conditions will continue to prevail until he does.

I attended a class last night. I am really enjoying these classes. The class is supposed to go from 7p until 9p though the teacher talks past 9 p.m. You don't dare leave because you might miss something important. This is a spiritual class. I don't want to say which kind of spiritual class because I don't want to seem greedy.

Guess what? (go ahead...I''ll wait.)

I found out from another class attendee how I got cancer. I was amazed that he would know this information. I almost wrote about the conversation when I got home last night though it was way past bed time. I decided to crash and burn, hoping I'd be able to recall our conversation this morning. Below is a paraphrase based on 5 hours of sleep per night for the past three nights:

Man: Cancer is your payback for being greedy when you lived on the island of Atlantis.

Me: Hmmmm....

Man: Yes. There were several types of greed on the island of Atlantis, material, spiritual, and this all took place on the on the continent of Atlantis under the sea.

Me: Hmmm...

Man: You probably suffered from spiritual greed. That's why you got cancer in this life.

Me: *snoring*

Man: I'm a magician!

Needless to say, I am meeting some very interesting people.

No matter which theory you buy into about *how* a person got cancer, don't repeat your theory to a person who has or had cancer or repeat various theories to their relatives. Theories don't help and they may cause bad karma.

Autumnal Blessings: a Multi-Country Perspective

I just arrived home from my fusion tribal belly dance class. I am thinking the word fusion means a fusion of sore muscles, sweat, and hips that don't lie. Hopefully I won't be too fused to go to work in the morning.

Earlier this evening, The Baglady and I collaborated, using our collective comedic genius and ambassadorial-like personalities, pulling together a multi-(2)country list of good things about the fall season to counter my depressing post on crappy things about autumn.

My list is first because this is my blog and this depressing autumn nonsense originated inside my brain which obviously doesn't have enough to do between studying buddhism, meditation, NVC, and now, fusion tribal belly dancing (there were 3 high school girls there! Their hips lie!) Then it occurred to me on my drive home from fusion tribal belly dancing that maybe the universe concurs with the ending of my relationship with Chris so I could actually live this life instead of merely *pretending* to live it by trying to think of what I should cook him for dinner most nights. Guess that's another item to add to the list of things with which to thank Chris.

Below we offer our collaboration on good things about autumn from the U. S. and Canada. We invite you to add to the list in the comments. That way I can take all your comments and make them into one huge multi-country, multi-continental, genius-i-fied list of good things about autumn, and not whine about autumn ever again. Maybe I'll design one of those posters we'd put on our bedroom walls as radical teens we were in the 70s (not 1870s - smart ass!)that began with Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life...Then we can retire on the riches we'll gain from the sale of the poster. (I wonder what those people are doing now?)

Henceforth, we present:

Autumnal Desiderata

by POD and the Baglady

Warm soup for dinner, split pea, or acorn squash soup with warm corn bread as a side

Wood stove fires (with only eco-friendly firewood)

Halloween, and all that goes with the day (and not wanting to eat candy)

Flavored, pumpkin-spice coffee type drinks (non-fat, no whip cream) at my favorite coffee place

Colorful fall foliage

Mulled anything, (I likes me some mulling. Should have been a muller.)

Piles of leaves

Windy days and rain storms

Fall flower, asters, chrysanthemums

New apples, cider and other fall fruits

Pumpkin patches, scarecrows

Fall harvest

Colorful farmer's market produce

Classes start

Winterizing the house

Splitting wood

Neck scarves (and not just to cover up a sagging neck!)

Jumping in piles of leaves that don't have dog-shit raked up in the pile

Fog from the ocean swelling up and over the house

Water for desperate forest trees - redwoods, madrones and oaks

Ripening persimmons hanging from the tree against a darkened sky

Cooler weather, crisp air

Wet, fallen leaves

Pumpkin guts

Harvest Festivals (I've never been to one but I've seen advertising signs.)

Harvest Festivus (for the rest of us!)

The Neil Young Song, Harvest Moon

Crickets

Every breath you take

Every cake you bake (sorry about those two)

Each moment I am consciousness of the grandeur of autumn

And from one of our fave (working outside the home and can hardly be bothered with us anymore) Canadian friends:

Six more months until spring.

Piles of leaves to rake up, then jump in

Piles of leaves to burn

The smell of burning piles of leaves (except when you scoop up and burn dog shit by mistake...)

The smell of cranberries in the bush. (Oh, wait - they smell like dirty socks. Never mind that one.)

The sound of geese honking - always makes me cry. (Might have to leave that off, too)

Ummm.... Halloween CANDY. Yeah, there's one. (Err, unless you're on a diet. Damn, forget that one, too.)

Harvesting the garden

Harvest Suppers. (I think that's a tradition that's gone by the wayside, though. Have you ever even heard of that?) (No, I have never heard of Harvest Suppers. I'm lucky if I eat a bag of popcorn for dinner. Tonight I ate a Skinny Cow.)

The pretty colours of the leaves turning. (Until the fucking wind blows them all off.)

Oh, wait, this is supposed to be a list of the good things about Autumn, isn't it? Well, there's only 6 more months until Spring!

Wrinkles in Time

PK and I went to meet a friend we had not seen in nearly 40 years. I was unsure about the reunion before hand, and even more unsure upon returning home. This woman talked about getting together with us once a month now though that feels too often for me, and I confessed my uneasiness. Hopefully sleep brought some sense to her. It feels as if I don't have time now for the people with whom I love and have relationships.

Lately I am curious about reminiscing. Why people seem to reminisce more as they age? Is it only because I am aging that I know this? What's the point to reminiscence? Why do we have high school reunions if when we were in high school, so many of us were traumatized and bullied by classmates? My 35th reunion was this past weekend. I didn't attend.

Tonight I'm heading back to belly-dancing classes after a two year cancer hiatus. When I first found out about the cancer diagnosis I never thought I'd belly dance again. Then again, I thought I would be dead by now. So today is a happy anniversary of sorts -- something to note for the good list I am compiling instead of the list-o-rotten things that happen in autumn.

Listening to Thich Nhat Hahn on my iPOD on the way into work this morning, I heard a segment I had not heard previously (this morning is the first time I listened to him speak) where he reminds the listener (me) that buddhism is a raft to get to the other shore. He goes on to say that one should not mistake the raft for the shore. I'm on the raft.

The Stories We Tell

Rumor has it that we don't have seasons in the west though that rumor is patently false. Maybe the west doesn't have noticeable seasons in the larger cities like San Francisco because there are fewer trees or LA where the only way you can tell it's winter is when the fires stop burning or summer because the fires begin. Though in the mountains with which I live -- we have distinct seasons. It's the beginning of autumn now. The big leaf maples are turning yellow and dropping leaves. The oaks are dropping green acorns. The redwood tree tips turn brown, falling to earth with the first big wind storm, turning pavement into trail.

It's also red leaf picking season.

One fall afternoon years ago, my husband and I drove past a woman who was gathering red leaves in her arms. Deadpanned, Greg said, "Must be red leaf picking season," as he continued the drive toward home. That woman was gathering poison oak. I told him we should stop to tell her what she was doing, but Greg was not a stopper, not until he died.

I was feeling a bit melancholy last Sunday. I was home alone. The sun was going down behind the redwoods casting shadows over the house; a big pall of doom. It's that time of year when the sun starts going down that much earlier. The lighting on the house changes into creepy early afternoons. Halloween is just around the corner, then the holidays, no money, food issues and relatives...

There's a list of dramas that I annually mull. Through some sort of bad habit (or is this human nature?) I have developed this list over the years. Each year I add more drama (for lack of a better word) to the list. Then when I mentally go over the list to ensure more misery, I find I have perfectly valid reasons for feeling down in the dumps.

I wonder why we keep retelling these stories (unless I'm the only person who does it)? I wonder why I just don't celebrate the changing season(s) instead of thinking of all the people who've died during that time, the people who left, or that I'm alone in my house on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Below is a sample list of snivels:

1. Every year my sister and I have a conversation about how Greg ruined fall season by dying in the middle of it.
2. The sun goes down early and casts shadows.
3. It's going to be daylight savings time soon so there'll be less daylight (because we'll be saving it).
4. No one comes to my house for tricks or treats because I live in the boonies.
5. I am alone.
6. My seventh anniversary *would* have been Oct 31st. Without my ex, there is no anniversary.
7. I don't have any halloween decorations up (and who started that trend anyway?)
8. It's indian summer and hotter than hell.
9. With the sun going down earlier, I can't tan during the daylight and have to go to the tanning salon. (j/k!)
10. Half days spent under light therapy due to seasonal affective disorder.
11. Repeated stories about 9/11, the media stream who's only purpose is to get us to buy stuff. Is this push to remember 9/11 so we can really remember those who suffered or is it so we can relive all the commercials trying to sell us products we don't need?
12. I don't even recall making a list of horrors prior to 9/11.

I've decided I am going to change my ways this year (as if I haven't already). I'm not going to repeat stories (especially when I'm alone). If my mind goes to that place, I'm going to shoot the thought out of my head like my hillbilly neighbor shoots his 22.

I'm making a list of ways to celebrate the changing of the season. First thing I'm going to do is *if* I get sulky when I'm alone, I'm going to force myself onto the elliptical instead of walking like a zombie toward the fridge. I'm going to hang Halloween lights and turn them on every night. I'm going to buy Halloween candy and put it in a bowl by the door. (I have not bought Halloween candy in 14 years!) When no one comes trick or treating, I'll find some unsuspecting child with which to give the candy. I'll (finally) spread Greg's ashes, some at Pigeon Point and some in the forest where he spent so much time. I'll invite close friends to celebrate his life instead of keeping his ashes hidden in that beautifully carved walnut box that I paid $1,000 for, money I could now use on Halloween decorations, candy and real books containing stories of other people's misery, a mortgage.

What happens that causes us to repeat stories like this (or again, am I the only one)? (And since today is 9/11 and stories of 9/11 are all over the media, I'm thinking it's not just me.) My mom read to us when we were young though I don't recall her reading depressing stories, telling us to memorize them and repeat as necessary when life is going well.

I've been wondering about the stories we tell ourselves for the past few days. Are these stories legitimate tales we tell ourselves in order to grieve? Or are they only inside our heads to make us suffer? And if suffering is the answer, why do we choose to suffer by our own hand? Why do I collect maudlin, mood-modifying missives to make myself miserably masochistic? Is it because I'm Jewish? Does it have anything to do with being raised Protestant? Am I Jew in a Protestant's body? Miz says that makes me a Jewtestant. (That explains a lot!)

If you do this too, instead of sulking away the entire fall season, mulling over your doom list for days on end, for crying out loud, cease and desist! Give the list one good going over. That's it! Then bake a cheesecake, take a walk, sing Halloween carols at the local senior center or get yourself up to the mountains for red leaf picking season. This time of year we have a plethora of decorative choices to pick from. Come up to the mountains to get your fall decor before the seasons change once again and you have one more dramatic loss to add to your dread list for next year.

Producing Compassion

I had a sort of end of summer gathering over this past weekend. We drank cheap prosecco (which means that Sunday was ruined by a hangover). I didn't even drink that much but still, ugh. I'm over the prosecco thing for a good long while (until the next drunken brawl). We had great food, good conversation and friendship.

I hit the farmer's market first thing that morning. This season provides the absolute best produce choices -- colors of produce are phenomenal. I gathered amber-colored Thompson, tiny, deep-purple champagne and red seedless grapes, vine-ripened clusters, tasting sweet -- to go with three cheeses, Italian truffle, triple cream brie and cave-aged Gruyere (my personal favorite); a small-ish baguette, and crackers.

I forced everyone to try the POMx coffee that I had received from the good folks at POM. Tasting coffee at the beginning of a get-together may seem a bit weird but I had a captive audience. I am not one to let them get off too easy. I love to hear other people's opinions (for a few seconds). Consensus has it that the POMx tasted similar to Starb**ks but was far less sweeter which is a good thing, imho. The coffee tasted good though we were quickly on to the cheap(ass) prosecco. I'm not sure the bottled coffee is something I'd buy bottled when fresh-brewed coffee seems available everywhere. I'd try my best to support POM over that other company mostly because they've been very gracious. And I love a good gracious.

With my hangover weighing me down more than usual, the next morning I went to Weight Watchers. I didn't feel like staying for the meeting though I stayed... I couldn't talk about this weeks subject - foods that entice or barbecuing for dummies or whatever it was. I felt queasy. Coffee (not even POMx!) would cure this feeling of quease. I was going to a class on enlightenment later that that morning that I didn't want to miss - (should have taken *any* enlightenment class prior to prosecco drinking!)

Later that afternoon I went to a bookstore where a little man came up to me. He started talking about religion, and assorted philosophical theorems (while I slept). He spoke of people who are his teachers, with whom he's taken refuge, and at who's feet he was initiated. My head was swimming - this is a whole new language. I was really grateful (almost religiously so) when I found out he actually worked at the store. He said that in this area there are (either) Tibetan Buddhists or followers of Amma. (Well, I'll be! I had no idea.) Then the little man told me when the rug feels as if it's been yanked out from underneath, to consider the rug more of a flying carpet. I like that idea (very much) though it means that I will continue to focus on learning to be more open, flexible, spontaneous, and accepting.

SHIT!

Speaking of acceptance, I received notice of acceptance to the 9 month intensive training in non-violent (compassionate) communication. So start paying attention and see if you can tell that I am sounding more compassionate. During last Monday night's practice group I learned how to approach the advice giving person that I had difficulty with in my recent support group. We role-played how this approach could look and sound. I'm working on practicing -- how to let her know without offense, that her advice-giving ways make me want to shut-down. I will practice, and then, just to show them who's boss, I'll stay at home during the next support group meeting.

Online "Dating" & A PODuct Review for L'Oreal Paris

Awhile back when I was bored (and still dating -- just kidding) I signed up for a well advertised online dating website, and now they are torturing me. I did not officially sign up because I am WAY not ready to date anyone. I filled out a bunch of forms and fact-filled tidbits, and unfortunately clicked "okay" and then, when it came time to pay the $500 bucks per month so I could start 'meeting my matches,' I balked. I have issues around trust (as one might imagine) transparent as one-ply...fall out from people vanishing without a trace.

I backed off the whole idea of this dating game. Though it's funny. You don't get to choose your age ranges. They choose them for you. So lately I get the emails where Orville or Wilbur would like to 'nudge' me to input a photo but that ain't gonna happen. My sister has tried to be encouraging, telling me that "sixty's not THAT old." I am 53. I have enough health issues of my own. One dead (haha!) give-away on this dating site is when the person says they are "thankful for their health" under What are the Three Things you are Thankful For?

I know because that's how I answered the question.

This morning I got an email from the system telling me my latest match is 72 years old, named Abraham. At his age he probably needs someone to help him tote his testicles. If my mom weren't with her man, I'd ask her if she wanted to date this guy.

Please read and comment on my L’Oréal Paris review. September is Ovarian cancer month and L’Oréal is contributing very graciously to ovarian cancer research.

SmArt Therapy

Last night I went to a support group meeting. It's not really much of a group. There was a facilitator, myself and one other woman. The support group has just started again and this one woman is new to the group. Another woman is in southern California taking care of a relative so she'll be back for the next meeting.

I complained like hell when I first made the decision to go to a support group. Support for post-chemo, and I was well past (I thought) post-treatment. I wanted support right after treatment though there was no space in any of the existing groups. In the meantime, I read books and clamored for some sense of stability post cancer treatment. I've since learned that stability is an illusion (as some support groups should be). Stability is fleeting.

I had to wait some nine months for space in a legit post-treatment support group. Then I bitched (to myself) about the meeting because by that time I didn't feel I needed them. Then I thought I could been in some sort of denial (at which point I should have completely ceased all thought). When the group facilitator phoned, I told her that I'd willingly attend two meetings. But after two meetings (and sometimes what felt like 1.5 hours of torture), I kept going but gah... knows why. Again in fairness (why I feel the need to be fair is another therapy session), I like this facilitator. She's a sweetie. I must have been getting something out of it or maybe I need to be away from something else so enduring this 1.5 hours of torture was better than what I was doing elsewhere. I dunno.

Last night's session was the facilitator, another woman and myself talking about whatever for an 1.5 hours which ended up being closer to two hours because the other woman decided she would share some of her insight with me, and dammit -- when people share their insight I want to bap them in the teeth (I learned this last week at buddhist camp). (Kidding!)

She was telling me that I had to let my feelings out. I should cry. I should gnash my teeth and be angry and scream. She was telling me that my experience was "AFGO" (only she called it an AFGE). I wanted to bap her in the teeth so she would experience an AFGE. She was telling me what it's like to have someone die. She was telling me that my experience was similar to a death. She was telling me I had to grieve. And I was really getting angry at her. I was looking at her with (what felt like) my eyes on fire - the same look I'd give my mom as a teenager. I had to take deep breaths and remain conscious. I was wondering why I was having this reaction to this woman...and dammit if it wasn't because I felt like I was looking in a g-damned mirror which is not fair (in all fairness) because I don't want to see myself in this crazy woman's blithering diatribe.

I cried. Mostly I cried out of frustration because I felt like and feel like I have been doing the right things, grieving, moving toward freedom and less suffering. I'm not dwelling. I'm moving on. It's fine to be sad and be in despair (I know what those two feelings are) to a point though I believe that it's okay to get past those things eventually. I still grieve. I know what it's like to have someone die. I am not without grief, sadness and suffering though I don't wallow in it for long periods of time. I allow myself to feel. Because I sure as shit felt defensive when these women claimed that I was not allowing myself to feel my feelings.

The whole scene reminded me of chemotherapy. When I was enduring the chemo, each day was horrid and then coming out of chemo, each day was 100% better than the day before. I remember writing about that, and feeling the newness and promise of following days. It's not that I was without suffering. I did not want to sit in a stew of suffering forever. I spent a lot of time in pity for myself. Anyone who reads these posts knows that I suffer, knows that I write about, and feel my feelings. This woman even suggested I write as a release. I did not give her the url to my blog. I felt exhausted when I left.

On the way home, I stopped at my favorite 'natural foods' restaurant for soup. The time was getting late. They restaurant was making attempts to close though many people were still heading inside.

The young woman behind the cash register asked me for my order. I told her what I wanted. She said, "Can I ask you a question? It's kind of a strange question." I said, "Yes." She went on, "I don't want to offend you." I said, "No problem." (I had just been mortally wounded in a support group - how could she offend me? -- As long as she doesn't question whether I allow myself to feel my feelings or not I probably won't feel offended.)

The young woman smiled and said, "Are you an artist?" And I said, "No. Why? Do I look like an artist that you know?" She said, "No. I really love the way you look, and dress. It's very artist- like. You look like someone who would be an artist. I wanted to know if you were someone I should know?" I thought for a moment about what I was wearing, how I looked, and smiled back at her. Immediately I thought I should have told her, "Yes, I am an artist." Instead I told her, "I am learning to be more creative. I suppose that could mean I am somewhat an artist?" She agreed, and apologized while finishing my order. Then I tipped her so she would know for sure that I am not an artist.

In all fairness, I could have easily claimed to be an artist because of the art I create by giving myself permission to write about my feelings and other things regardless of what others think I'm doing with my feelings. In all fairness, one person's therapy is another person's art.