In the Garden

The garden is lovely. I’m take “naps” there. The quotation marks mean that an insomniac like me can’t expect to sleep in the middle of the day so a true nap is but an idle dream, as ‘twere, but at least I can rest. The weather has been very warm for this time of year, in the 80’s. I called our next door neighbor a few days ago and asked to borrow a chaise longe, which he graciously and promptly provided, so I go out there several times a day and simply rest, watching the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Today was a landmark. I went upstairs and played my banjo, an activity that was unthinkable even yesterday. It felt wonderful, although I have a long way to go before I get my banjo playing up to an acceptable level. (I haven’t played it for a long while because I’ve been so insanely busy.)

My office upstairs seem suddenly appealing. The new bathroom is a real place now and the third floor (where the office is) has ceased to be a construction zone. Not so the second floor, which is a huge mess because we had to demolish the ceiling of the second floor bathroom in order to repair the plumbing of the third floor bathroom. Andrine, however, has been making major inroads in clearing construction debris out of that bathroom and perhaps the chaos that spilled over into the bedrooms will be addressed at some point. I’m still camped out on the first floor. Given my energy level, it seems wise not to keep two flights of stairs between me and the kitchen. I have a lot of energy these days, but it just doesn’t last very long. Reminds me of a line that our friend Magical Mystical Michael says in his show: “I have good memory, but it’s short.”

I have lots of visitors and lots of phone calls from well wishers. It’s been quite lovely. Many people from my synagogue are bringing meals for us and I get to visit with them when they come. The rabbi stopped by yesterday as well. I had expected to get a lot of reading done, but the days are so full, I find I don’t really have the time. Perhaps now that the first week is over, it will calm down to a dull roar. However, my dear friend Deborah is driving up from southern Oregon to do some caretaking tomorrow. That should be a lot of fun to have her here.

Saving Myself (and it's going rather well)

Surgery went well, so much better than expected. I was up and about and moving like my old self within hours. I had so much love and support throughout the whole process.

A quick day by day account post surgery taken from emails:

9.24.06 I’m feeling well, although I’m moving a bit slowly. I came home from the hospital yesterday. I had exactly one pain pill while in the hospital and none since that time since I have absolutely no pain. Everything went extremely well. Now I’m trying to figure out how to take it easy for a while so I can mend. I’m learning how to sit in my garden without weeding or raking or watering. It’s quite a challenge but I think I’m up to it.

9.25.06 I’m spending a lot of time napping and receiving visitors instead. I actually washed my hair today and made some vegan raw food crackers to put into the dehydrator. That was more activity than I’ve managed in a few days and for a while it seemed as if I had overdone it. However, a long nap remedied that. The day flowed by and I had little time to listen to the radio, or delve into one of the many books that have been piling up by my bedside. Howard found me in the garden today and was so gratified to see me just sitting there. He commented that it’s rare for him to see me just sit still. And he reminded me that he had made the garden for me and according to my specifications. It’s time I enjoyed it. It’s been waiting for me for six years. The weather is gorgeous here, an Indian summer.

The upstairs is still a construction zone, but the second floor bathroom now has a ceiling again. The third floor bathroom is nearly complete, but still reeking of toxins so that when I go up to my office to fetch a few things I get dizzy and have to go back downstairs and lie down again. I’m currently living in the library, surrounded by books, brass nautical instruments inherited from my parents, and lots of flowers sent by friends. It’s a very pleasant place to be. My very old dog is blissed out and slumbers by my bed or at my feet when I wander to the garden or living room. She loves that I’m home, living downstairs, and am moving very slowly.

Tomorrow is another day of slow pleasures. Andrine will give me a massage. I could get used to this.

And back to today...

The run up to surgery was a marathon. I was so busy arranging my life so that I could take time off that those last couple of weeks became a blur. I've been looking forward to a little slow time. Of course, I felt so good yesterday that I completely blew it and did way too much, but I suppose some of us have to learn the hard way. Jasper (eldest son) came in at midnight and Gavi (younger son) drove to pick him up. Since Gavi has a learner's permit, I had to go with him. We didn't get back until one a.m. and of course I awoke early as usual. No naps yesterday, not enough sleep last night and too much running around acting like an already healed person led to a very slow day today and the first pain I've experienced since the operation.

However, it's okay to slow down today. It's fun, even. I called John next door and asked to borrow a chaise longe, which he brought over immediately and set up in the garden. I'm so very happy.

Jasper came in specifically to take care of me, and that is so sweet. It's so delightful to hang out with him. He bought a new accordian while in New York which he's playing. He plays such interesting music. When he had just purchased it, he was playing it on the street, not as a performer, but just playing it and two people offered him a job. It's not like he plays it expertly yet, but I can hear that his musical tastes are quite intriguing, and that must have been the attraction.

So, it's back to contemplating the garden, and listening to the spash of the fountain and distant sounds of the accordian on a spectacularly beautiful day in early autumn. The very old dog just got groomed and she's beautiful and even smells good. I feel incredibly blessed.

I saw my surgeon today to plan the mastectomy. I really like him. I’m not so crazy about the hospital. They are very good at what they do, but they aren’t very patient centered. Still, I got some good news. My cancer is a stage one, which is the least scary stage (it goes up to stage four). I had all the blood work done, told them what not to prescribe to me. Some sweet young nurse who was interviewing me looked at my chart and asked me if I was still bicycling 10 miles a day. When I replied in the affirmative, she burbled, “I hope I’ll be able to bicycle that far when I’m 55!” I guess I’ve crossed the line into geezerhood.

Exposing vulnerabilities…I suppose I’ve spent a lot of time “being strong,” taking care of others, not acknowledging my own needs. And when I got upset, I hid until I felt better. I’m learning how important it is to seek out others when I’m upset and allow them to comfort me. It’s taught me a lot about how to comfort others. I’m also finding that I don’t care how weird people think I am anymore. I don’t pretend to be anyone other than who I am, even when I’m working on a professional level.

I spent a considerable amount of time studying shamanism with a very wonderful group of women in Port Townsend. Many of them remain good friends to this day even though many of us have scattered to the winds. But I’ve always been reluctant to practice it. I’ve thrown all caution to the winds lately. I dance and rattle and sing in my side yard every morning and I drum at night before I go to bed. I don’t care who hears it. I don’t care what they think. I don’t care if the songs are “good” or not since they aren’t fore public consumption. They are for me. They are for connecting to the earth and to spirit.

I suppose all this means that I’m accessing and integrating parts of me that have hitherto been left out in the cold, so to speak. I continue to open to experience and reap the rewards.

I have started EFT meetings at my house twice a month with two other women who were at the EFT workshop in Denver last month. I’ve been using this technique (and having it used on me) and it’s been a revelation. It’s a fast way to move through a lot stuff rather painlessly. As a therapist I’m feeling like I can really help people make extraordinary changes in their lives. There’s a website if you want to learn more about it: www.emofree.com

So enough gushing. Yes, I’m doing well, but ask me after surgery, which is the 22nd, or next week. I’ll probably stay a couple days in the hospital. I know anesthetic is not good for me and I have no idea what the emotional implications are of losing a breast. I went and got a post-op camisole today for the drain. The surgery date is looming and I’m trying not to fret about it. I’ll have my EFT friends come to the hospital the night of the surgery to tap me through that first phase.

Ah, it's time to dash to a class...

Chasing the Homeless Lady

I like to give out money to people who are begging on the streets. I have a couple of rules. They have to be over 40 and they can’t have a dog. I have broken the dog rule, though. A couple with three dogs broke down and were stranded in Portland. I gave them a $20 bill. That’s a lot more than I usually give. Usually it’s just $2. That’s my standard. And I always try to find out what brought them to ask for money on the street. I look at it this way, giving out money is cheap entertainment. I always learn something. It’s not easy to live on the streets or to ask for money from strangers. I also consider giving money is an investment. Rockefeller used to like to give out dimes. He considered it like planting seeds. Whatever he gave away, he knew it would come back to him tenfold. That's what I believe will happen. I know that I am continually showered with blessings, at any rate. I prefer to work from a model of abundance rather than scarcity.

I also buy Street Roots, the magazine written by homeless people. Homeless people sell it on the streets in Portland and get 70 cents out of every dollar sale. Because it’s a business transaction, I generally treat it as such and don’t necessarily ask for their story. After all, they’ve got a business to run. However, the other day I was riding my bicycle to work and because of construction I got off at a different street and had to walk my bicycle up 5th Avenue. I passed a woman sitting on the corner selling Street Roots so I stopped to buy a copy. The lead story was about a man from Dignity Village (a tent city sort of housing project for homeless people) who had moved to London. I commented on the story, telling the woman how in my twenties, I used to help homeless families fix up squats in London so they could move into them. She said the man who was featured used to be her partner when they lived in Dignity Village.

I asked her if she was still at Dignity Village and she said no, she was sleeping on the street now. She was on disability because of health problems and had moved into an apartment at the Rosewood but it had smelled very bad, like cat piss, and it made her sick to be there. In fact, she ended up in the hospital because it smelled so bad. When she got better, she refused to go back there and they wouldn’t give her another apartment, so she ended up having to go to a women’s shelter. However, the shelter was closed down for lack of funds, so she was back on the street. She was working with a case worker from Cascadia hoping to get another apartment, but it could be a long wait.

I have an MSW and I’m a certified drug and alcohol counselor but it didn’t take a master’s degree to figure out that she had been housed in an apartment where methamphetamine had been cooked by a previous tenant. Because ammonia is used in the process, former meth labs generally smell like cat piss. And she was made ill by the toxicity. The social worker wanted to take her in hand. I gave her my card and asked her to come see me, but she was afraid that somehow that would compromise her relationship with Cascadia and her ability to get housing. I assured her I wanted to help her as a friend and that I wasn’t looking for more clients. She was still apprehensive so I let the subject drop.

She asked me if I knew of a public bathroom nearby. I said that when I was downtown I usually went to a department store. She said that since she had to carry a sleeping bag, that wouldn’t work for her. It labeled her as homeless and she would be thrown out of any department store. I told her that she was welcome to come with me to my office and she asked me what floor it was on and I said the sixth. She quickly shook her head no. She doesn’t ride elevators and given the state of her health she couldn’t walk all the stairs. She said that she was once trapped in an elevator for 4 ½ hour and hasn’t ridden one since.

I’m an EFT practitioner, among other things, and this seemed like a good opportunity to remove that phobia. Phobias that stem from one incident are pretty easy to deal with, and with everything going on in this poor woman’s life, removing a phobia would be helpful. I told her I could help her with that, but I’d have to come back later because I had to get to an appointment. How about one o’clock. She said okay, but she looked somewhat alarmed. I think I was too much for her.

I came back at one. I was walking towards her, about a block away, when she got up and left. I walked after her, quickening my pace, until I finally caught up with her couple of blocks away. I reminded her of our appointment, but she said, no, she had to get to a doctor’s appointment. She was flustered and breathless.

Here I was chasing a homeless person around, terrifying her, foisting my gifts upon her. Sometimes I amaze myself in my insensitivity. Still, there are so many stories like hers out there and I was trying to help. She was such a sweet person yet bad luck and bad health were her lot. How does one turn that around? How could she finally get her own apartment only to have it be a former meth lab and poisonous to her? How could anyone not know that was the problem with it and that she wasn’t just whining, but had been exposed to toxins? I was ready to march in and do battle for her, but I became yet another problem for her.

What a world. What a world.

Morning Meditation 9.11.06

I made a bower in which to stand
In which to dance
In which to feel the earth beneath my feet and the sky overhead
A hundred birds sang
A jet flew overhead
And traffic rushed by on Fremont.
I stood, I danced,
And a beacon of love shone forth from my heart
Right here on 35th Avenue
Right here in my yard.
So many miracles. Who knew?

Dancing the Porcupine

It turns out that I have breast cancer. I was diagnosed in early July with invasive ductal carcinoma, which is the most common form of breast cancer (famous for its ability to metastasize, which is the scary part). At that point, I didn’t know what my treatment would be, but now I’ve had yet more biopsies and hence more information on which to base decisions. A second breast biopsy showed another site in my affected breast that had invasive cancer and a third site is suspected, which means I have to have a mastectomy. However, a node biopsy showed that it hasn’t spread to my lymph nodes, which is a very good thing. I won’t have to have chemotherapy. I will have surgery on September 22nd.

All this has caused me to rethink, retool, and renew my life. Many blessings have come from this. I can't say it has been a bad thing, although there is a downside of course, such as the threat of death and major disfiguring operations. Ah well, what it takes for some of us to wake up.

I've been reading The Four Fold Path, which has inspired me to pull out drum and rattle and practice shamanism again. The book was suggested by Holley, my new-found friend and old soul mate from many lives. It was so good to meet him again in this lifetime.

To get me through this episode of my life, the power animal who has come into my life is the porcupine. It turns out that they are dancers: “as the young get older, they are often seen standing upon their hind legs and rocking to and fro, waving their paws. This is a rhythmic exercise. When observed, it looks very much like a dance.”

I danced my porcupine in standing meditation yesterday:

Standing in my power
I dance the ecstatic dance of the porcupine
Renewal of awe
I climb to the top of the trees
I sway amidst the branches
Unafraid, grateful, and blissful

I stand girded by protection
Exposing my vulnerabilities
I swim the waters of emotion
Buoyed by hollow quills
I shuffle along the forest floor
Amused and curious

Engaging the Hedgehog

I was riding my bicycle down Ankeny Street after seeing my friend Beth at City Bike Repairs when I passed an older black man ambling down the street. He called to me, "Hey, I'd like to ask you something." He looked sufficiently down and out to fit my criteria, so since I'm always looking for moments with engagement, especially with homeless people, I stopped to find out what he wanted. He looked at me with a bleary eye, swaying slightly in the breeze, exuding the unmistakable odor of alcohol. However, he looked friendly enough. He said, "Do you have fifteen cents? I need it to get on the bus."
"The bus costs a lot more than fifteen cents," I replied.
"Okay, a dollar then. Can I have a dollar?"
"A dollar isn't going to get you on the bus, either. The bus costs $1.65. Here, I'll give you a bus ticket." I started to rip a ticket out of my ticket book.
"No, I just want a dollar."
I sorted through my wallet through all the receipts and movie stubs and whatnot. I found a dollar and handed it to him. He took it.
He looked at me closely. "Are you giving this to me so you won't feel guilty?"
I laughed. That would be the last reason to give him money. The fact is I like giving away small amounts of money. It almost always leads to an interesting encounter. I love to talk to people and hear their stories, especiall if they are down and out. I also believe you will receive more of what you give away. This especially applies to love and money. But I didn't share my motivation with him so he moved on to the next subject.
"So where you goin'?"
I told him that I was on my way to a meeting.
"You going to a drug and alcohol meeting?"
"No, it's not a drug and alcohol meeting."
"So what kind of meeting is it?"
I was going to a therapy group for women with breast cancer, but this seemed like too much information for this context so I hesitated and he sensed my hesitation.
"So are you going to a ladie's meeting?"
Pretty good guess, I thought, and a pretty good way of putting it. "Yes, I'm going to a ladies meeting."
It was time for another subject. "I ain't never been with no white woman before," he said, touching my shoulder. "Would you take me home with you?"
I smiled and said, "I think my husband might object to that."
He grinned in agreement. "Yeah, he might not like that."
"Men are funny that way."
"You one wild woman," he said.
I laughed again and said,"I need to get to my ladie's meeting."
"Have a nice meeting," he said. I waved and rode off. It was a dollar well spent on my part. However, I don't imagine he will spend it as wisely. Still, that's really none of my business, is it?