I went up to OHSU Thursday and Dr. P took a look at the lump under my arm and said “Hmm. That’s unusual.” He ordered an ultrasound which Dr. Kettner did. The mass was black, which to my untutored eye was good news, since black tends to be liquid rather than solid. The next step was a needle aspiration and the news was good. The lump turned out to be an intramuscular hematoma, not cancer. Due to some sort of trauma, I had broken a blood vessel and it had bled between a couple of muscles and caused a rather large lump. However, I was mystified as to how it came about.
The very next morning I was provided with a possible answer. I was riding my bicycle to the store to get dog food for the ancient beast since I was leaving for the weekend that day and she was out of the Good Stuff. On my way there, for no apparent reason, I lost my balance and fell off of my bicycle. I was able to steer to the curb and fall onto a planting strip instead of the pavement so the landing was softer than it might have been, but it still shook me up. And it reminded me that the week before I had fallen off my bicycle, again for no apparent reason. I had been riding on Broadway when I suddenly lost my balance. I was sort of embarrassed about it because there was nothing that I could figure that caused it, and I picked myself up and went on my way and forgot about it. But I believe that is what may have caused the trauma that led to the hematoma.
It is a bit of a worry that I’m as unsteady on a bicycle as I am. I don’t notice it walking, but it may be that I have lost some of my balance and it’s noticeable when I ride. Riding a bicycle does require a more specialized skill in balancing. With all the toxins I’ve had running through my body and brain, I wouldn’t be surprised that this is yet another side effect.
I’m in a quandary about whether to ride or not. I’ll probably opt for riding, given that it’s spring and riding a bicycle is my favorite thing to do. It’s not like I can be more careful because in both instances I was riding slowly (I have no choice about that) and I wasn’t distracted. It’s all very odd. Meanwhile, haven fallen on my right shoulder and hip, I’m quite sore and stiff today. And the hematoma is looking larger and has become discolored.
I took the train up to Seattle yesterday to see David and stay at the Hotel Vintage Park, which is a lovely place downtown. It’s delightful to be in Seattle again. We went to the zoo today and we’re going shopping tomorrow and see friends in the evening. I’ll take the train back on Monday.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Easing Back Into Life
I haven’t been blogging much because I’ve been feeling better and have been able to be more active. I’ve been cooking a lot with my new pressure cooker. I got a new cookbook called Great Vegetarian Cooking Under Pressure by Lorna Sass. It has revolutionized my life and made it fun to be a vegan. The recipes are really flavorful. The pressure cooker has become my favorite toy. I can whip up a wonderful soup or stew quickly. It’s so great to have enough energy to be able to shop and to cook real food. While I’m certainly not back to 100% of my former self, I’m at least back to 70% and that’s pretty good.
I’ve been studying for my exam on June 9th to upgrade my professional qualifications as a drug and alcohol counselor. I don’t know what my next job will be, but in case I find something in the addiction field, it makes sense to do that. I’m currently plowing through a textbook of therapeutic techniques and it’s a great review. It’s also amazingly time consuming. I have three heavy books to read before that date and I’m behind already on my schedule.
I’ve been taking a writing course for cancer patients at OHSU that has been surprisingly fun. I don’t usually write fiction or poetry so this has been a stretch for me.
I’m also working a tiny bit. I have a few loose ends to tie up at work for the study. I’m taking that slowly and very grateful that I can do so. I have a couple of clients that need some attention. I’d like to call each of my old clients to say goodbye, at least the ones that I was dealing with when I went on medical leave. I’m feeling well enough to do that now.
I’ve been studying for my exam on June 9th to upgrade my professional qualifications as a drug and alcohol counselor. I don’t know what my next job will be, but in case I find something in the addiction field, it makes sense to do that. I’m currently plowing through a textbook of therapeutic techniques and it’s a great review. It’s also amazingly time consuming. I have three heavy books to read before that date and I’m behind already on my schedule.
I’ve been taking a writing course for cancer patients at OHSU that has been surprisingly fun. I don’t usually write fiction or poetry so this has been a stretch for me.
I’m also working a tiny bit. I have a few loose ends to tie up at work for the study. I’m taking that slowly and very grateful that I can do so. I have a couple of clients that need some attention. I’d like to call each of my old clients to say goodbye, at least the ones that I was dealing with when I went on medical leave. I’m feeling well enough to do that now.
New Lump, New Worries
While at the beach, I discovered a new lump, this one on the site of my mastectomy. I couldn’t reach Howard or David and I didn’t tell anyone at the beach except Betty. I was upset but I used EFT to tap down my anxiety. I decided not to worry about it until I could see Dr. Pommier. When I got home I showed it to Howard and David who both opined that it couldn’t be cancer because it was so large and had appeared so suddenly. I had heard that before when in fact it turned out to be cancer so I wasn’t exactly reassured. But we shall see. I do know that there’s a lot of fluid in the area around the site of the lump, but the lump itself is very solid and unmovable. I go to see Dr. P tomorrow.
Another Weekend at the Beach
Even having a little bit of hair is better than having no hair. My hair is about a half an inch long. It’s now eight weeks after the last chemo. It doesn’t seem to be growing any longer, just filling in, getting whiter on top.
I went to the beach again last weekend for a yoga retreat. Kathleen Perkins teaches a yoga class at Good Samaritan Hospital for cancer survivors. She does a twice yearly yoga retreat at the beach. I had to miss the one last October since I was still recovering from my mastectomy, but I was determined to go to this last one. I love Kathleen’s classes. It’s all about being calm and delving within. I’ve never been particularly talented at being calm, except during meditation. Her classes combine movement and meditation. Her voice is very soothing. It was a lovely weekend, not only due to the class but due to the women that attended. Most of us were in our fifties, not all were breast cancer survivors. There were survivors of multiple myeloma and survivors of colon cancer. Some were dealing with recurrences. I was the freshest from chemo of the lot. Some had eight or nine years since they were first diagnosed.
We stretched and did yoga, we walked on the beach, we chatted and ate. We had two houses near each other but cooked and met in one. I was at the party house. I had my own room which was a wonderful luxury indeed. It was another restorative weekend.
I rode home with Betty, who is a delightful woman, a nurse who is a couple of years younger than me. She’s facing a recurrence of breast cancer, metastasizing in her lungs. It’s such a harsh disease. I told her about my mother, who was diagnosed at stage four when it had already metastasized to her bones. I told her that my mother had lived for thirteen year after diagnosis. Betty was heartened to hear that. We talked about our terriers since we both adore terriers. Hers has since gone to its reward and mine is on her last legs but their spirits live on. We chanted Tibetan chants while driving through to mountains an marveled at the budding trees.
Worries
While at the beach, I discovered a new lump, this one on the site of my mastectomy. I couldn’t reach Howard or David and I didn’t tell anyone at the beach except Betty. I was upset but I used EFT to tap down my anxiety. I decided not to worry about it until I could see Dr. Pommier. When I got home I showed it to Howard and David who both opined that it couldn’t be cancer because it was so large and had appeared so suddenly. I had heard that before when in fact it turned out to be cancer so I wasn’t exactly reassured. But we shall see. I do know that there’s a lot of fluid in the area around the site of the lump, but the lump itself is very solid and unmovable. I go to see Dr. P tomorrow.
I went to the beach again last weekend for a yoga retreat. Kathleen Perkins teaches a yoga class at Good Samaritan Hospital for cancer survivors. She does a twice yearly yoga retreat at the beach. I had to miss the one last October since I was still recovering from my mastectomy, but I was determined to go to this last one. I love Kathleen’s classes. It’s all about being calm and delving within. I’ve never been particularly talented at being calm, except during meditation. Her classes combine movement and meditation. Her voice is very soothing. It was a lovely weekend, not only due to the class but due to the women that attended. Most of us were in our fifties, not all were breast cancer survivors. There were survivors of multiple myeloma and survivors of colon cancer. Some were dealing with recurrences. I was the freshest from chemo of the lot. Some had eight or nine years since they were first diagnosed.
We stretched and did yoga, we walked on the beach, we chatted and ate. We had two houses near each other but cooked and met in one. I was at the party house. I had my own room which was a wonderful luxury indeed. It was another restorative weekend.
I rode home with Betty, who is a delightful woman, a nurse who is a couple of years younger than me. She’s facing a recurrence of breast cancer, metastasizing in her lungs. It’s such a harsh disease. I told her about my mother, who was diagnosed at stage four when it had already metastasized to her bones. I told her that my mother had lived for thirteen year after diagnosis. Betty was heartened to hear that. We talked about our terriers since we both adore terriers. Hers has since gone to its reward and mine is on her last legs but their spirits live on. We chanted Tibetan chants while driving through to mountains an marveled at the budding trees.
Worries
While at the beach, I discovered a new lump, this one on the site of my mastectomy. I couldn’t reach Howard or David and I didn’t tell anyone at the beach except Betty. I was upset but I used EFT to tap down my anxiety. I decided not to worry about it until I could see Dr. Pommier. When I got home I showed it to Howard and David who both opined that it couldn’t be cancer because it was so large and had appeared so suddenly. I had heard that before when in fact it turned out to be cancer so I wasn’t exactly reassured. But we shall see. I do know that there’s a lot of fluid in the area around the site of the lump, but the lump itself is very solid and unmovable. I go to see Dr. P tomorrow.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Milestone: Bicycling to Work
I rode my bicycle into work today, a distance of 4 ½ miles. It was cold, about 45 degrees when I left, and drizzly. I found my bicycle tights a few days ago so I wore those and my Burley jacket and my warm, waterproof gloves. I had my rain booties and my helmet cover with me but not on me, however, it never got wet enough for those. I rode slowly, but I made it to my office and it felt great. Instead of feeling like I had done too much, as I had feared I might, I felt exhilarated. Then I worked for a few hours. Both Merry and Ginny were there, so if felt like old times. It wasn’t a grueling day, especially since we had a lot to catch up on and spent a while chatting, but it was fun. There’s not a lot left to do on the study that Ginny and I were hired for. It’s such a contrast to when I left last fall. I have only a few things to tidy up and it will be done. It was a lovely job and I’ll definitely miss it, especially my colleagues. And I love the office. It’s such a great location, right downtown.
David met me for lunch and we went to an Indian buffet where I stuffed myself with vegetarian food. It's perhaps one of the last times we'll meet for lunch during the work day. That is, unless I find another job downtown. His office is going to move in three years to near the airport. He's already mourning the loss of a downtown office. It's so much fun to be right in the middle of things, convenient to the shops, the Main Library, PSU, parks, entertainment, and restaurants.
After finishing up a few things at work, I loaded my bicycle on the Max back and rode home from the 42nd Avenue Station. It meant going up a fairly steep hill to reach my house. I was apprehensive but I made it up with no problem. By the time I got home, I rode six miles total for the day, three times the distance I had tried post-chemo.
Last week I was so discouraged by how slowly I was recovering. This week small miracles are occurring every day. While I’m not yet back to 100%, I’m feeling like me again. I have a brain again and I can ride a bicycle, rather slowly, but enough to get somewhere.
David met me for lunch and we went to an Indian buffet where I stuffed myself with vegetarian food. It's perhaps one of the last times we'll meet for lunch during the work day. That is, unless I find another job downtown. His office is going to move in three years to near the airport. He's already mourning the loss of a downtown office. It's so much fun to be right in the middle of things, convenient to the shops, the Main Library, PSU, parks, entertainment, and restaurants.
After finishing up a few things at work, I loaded my bicycle on the Max back and rode home from the 42nd Avenue Station. It meant going up a fairly steep hill to reach my house. I was apprehensive but I made it up with no problem. By the time I got home, I rode six miles total for the day, three times the distance I had tried post-chemo.
Last week I was so discouraged by how slowly I was recovering. This week small miracles are occurring every day. While I’m not yet back to 100%, I’m feeling like me again. I have a brain again and I can ride a bicycle, rather slowly, but enough to get somewhere.
Jury Duty
On Monday I had jury duty. I had postponed it a couple of times already. The first time was way back in September when I had my mastectomy. I hadn’t expected to be doing chemo afterwards so when the lady who reschedules these things suggested postponing it until March 15th, that seemed like more than enough time for recovery. Well, by March 15th I was still recovering from chemo and doing jury duty was out of the question. However, I’m well enough now.
I’ve been had jury duty three times now since I moved to Portland and not once has my name been called to even be considered for a jury. I sat around all day and read a textbook for the exam I’m taking to upgrade my qualifications as a drug and alcohol counselor. I got the verification that I’m registered for the exam and it turns out that it’s in June, not July as I had thought, so my study time is truncated. Fortunately, my brain is working better now and I’m able to read more complex material. It wasn’t a huge burden to sit around and be forced to read all day. I have three heavy tomes to chew my way through before the exam. I figure if I read a chapter a day I should make it.
During lunch I went to my office and dashed off a letter to a client that I had tried to write to last week. Last week I had been discouraged because everything seemed so impossible. I couldn’t find the letter I was supposed to answer, I couldn’t find the forms I was supposed to send him. At lunch I dashed in, found the letter, found a form that I could copy, answered the letter, enclosed the copies I had made, and dashed back to the jury room. The brain fog has lifted.
I’ve been had jury duty three times now since I moved to Portland and not once has my name been called to even be considered for a jury. I sat around all day and read a textbook for the exam I’m taking to upgrade my qualifications as a drug and alcohol counselor. I got the verification that I’m registered for the exam and it turns out that it’s in June, not July as I had thought, so my study time is truncated. Fortunately, my brain is working better now and I’m able to read more complex material. It wasn’t a huge burden to sit around and be forced to read all day. I have three heavy tomes to chew my way through before the exam. I figure if I read a chapter a day I should make it.
During lunch I went to my office and dashed off a letter to a client that I had tried to write to last week. Last week I had been discouraged because everything seemed so impossible. I couldn’t find the letter I was supposed to answer, I couldn’t find the forms I was supposed to send him. At lunch I dashed in, found the letter, found a form that I could copy, answered the letter, enclosed the copies I had made, and dashed back to the jury room. The brain fog has lifted.
A Weekend at the Beach
Our little family (Howard, David, Andrine, Chira, Tasche, and me) went to the beach this weekend and I found it very reviving. I took walks along the shore and breathed in the salt air. On Saturday I took a couple of walks and needed a nap after each. On Sunday, however, I felt a shift in my energy. David and I walked into town and had an over-priced beverage at a fashionable café, then walked back and I didn’t need a nap afterwards. My energy held. I sort of felt like my normal self. I didn’t feel hopelessly frail anymore.
The sojourn was all too short. It seemed to mark a turning point for me, though. The nice thing is that I’ll be going to the beach again with my yoga class this next weekend. I haven’t been to the beach in such a long time and then I get to go two weekends in a row.
The sojourn was all too short. It seemed to mark a turning point for me, though. The nice thing is that I’ll be going to the beach again with my yoga class this next weekend. I haven’t been to the beach in such a long time and then I get to go two weekends in a row.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Yet Another Milestone
I achieved another milestone today. I don’t know how to put this because this truly is the intimate details of my life, but this morning I had sex for the first time in six months. I really had very little desire during chemo. I simply didn’t think about it much. Howard has been very patient and loving during this time, never pushing me at all. But he was completely delighted this morning when I was interested in more than an exchange of chaste little kisses.
In fact, we really kissed for the first time in a long time. Kissing lead to caressing, to peeling off our pajamas and my discovery that everything still works, despite lack of pubic hair, enforced menopause, and prescription estrogen inhibitors. It was even fun.
Howard said that it seemed like it was finally safe for me to inhabit my body again. That was an insightful comment. I’ve had a war waged in me these past months. It hasn’t been philosophically tasteful to me at all. I get so tired of the “war on (drugs, terrorism, poverty, terrorism, cancer, etc.)” mentality that seems so Western, so misguided, so stupid. And yet I felt I had to go with this paradigm for lack of a better one. I haven’t really been in my body for six months, perhaps longer.
I went to work again today for a couple of hours. This time, I decided to do only what I could. It took hours to just get out of the house. I couldn’t locate my work keys for a while and that took detective work. I gave up on trying to take the bus since I had so many delays and I drove. Mary was there. I got there at her lunch time so we had a chance to talk. I tried to locate a letter that I needed to answer and couldn’t. I didn’t try to do a whole lot. I felt like it was enough just to be there. Being in that context makes me realize how much I have lost in terms of cognition. I found it hard to concentrate. Just looking over the files was overwhelming. Everything seems so complex. But I just allowed it to be complex, to feel the emotions I was feeling and to take the baby steps as needed. I keep having to recalibrate, to scale back my expectations.
I found a job online yesterday that gave me hope that there are job possibilities out there. I’m still not going to apply for anything until June at the latest. I see other women in my group who are doing well four months after last chemo and I’m hoping that I’ll be in better shape by then.
Yesterday marked six weeks after the last chemo.
In fact, we really kissed for the first time in a long time. Kissing lead to caressing, to peeling off our pajamas and my discovery that everything still works, despite lack of pubic hair, enforced menopause, and prescription estrogen inhibitors. It was even fun.
Howard said that it seemed like it was finally safe for me to inhabit my body again. That was an insightful comment. I’ve had a war waged in me these past months. It hasn’t been philosophically tasteful to me at all. I get so tired of the “war on (drugs, terrorism, poverty, terrorism, cancer, etc.)” mentality that seems so Western, so misguided, so stupid. And yet I felt I had to go with this paradigm for lack of a better one. I haven’t really been in my body for six months, perhaps longer.
I went to work again today for a couple of hours. This time, I decided to do only what I could. It took hours to just get out of the house. I couldn’t locate my work keys for a while and that took detective work. I gave up on trying to take the bus since I had so many delays and I drove. Mary was there. I got there at her lunch time so we had a chance to talk. I tried to locate a letter that I needed to answer and couldn’t. I didn’t try to do a whole lot. I felt like it was enough just to be there. Being in that context makes me realize how much I have lost in terms of cognition. I found it hard to concentrate. Just looking over the files was overwhelming. Everything seems so complex. But I just allowed it to be complex, to feel the emotions I was feeling and to take the baby steps as needed. I keep having to recalibrate, to scale back my expectations.
I found a job online yesterday that gave me hope that there are job possibilities out there. I’m still not going to apply for anything until June at the latest. I see other women in my group who are doing well four months after last chemo and I’m hoping that I’ll be in better shape by then.
Yesterday marked six weeks after the last chemo.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Impatience
I went to work yesterday for the first time in five months. I took the bus in, ran a small errand before entering the office. Brad was there, the research assistant. I talked to him for a while about the study, and what he was learning, who had recidivated, and whether the strengths-based model we were using had any effect on keeping people from relapsing or being re-incarcerated. We concluded that Central City Concern’s mentor program was a more robust model.
He then left for Salem and I sat down at my desk. I went through some email and opened and closed the drawers of my desk. I looked online at some relevant websites to the study. I thought about watering the plants, but it seemed like a lot of effort. I realized that I was really tired. I wasn’t ready to make my brain work. I wasn’t ready to be at work. I was really disappointed.
Today would be another chemo day if I were still doing chemo. I’m six weeks out from my last treatment. If I wasn’t on layoff status (which means I can work or not until actual layoff and still get paid) I would have been scheduled to begin full time work on April 2nd. An hour and a half was as much as I could handle yesterday.
Prior to my surgery and treatment, a typical day would start at 5:30 am, with aerobics or yoga or weightlifting, then I’d get ready for work, eat breakfast, make a lunch for myself, hop on my bicycle and ride 4 ½ miles to work. I’d then work a full day, often eating at my desk because I had so much going on, then leave at 5 pm or so, and would usually have a class or meeting in the evening. All that seems so impossible now.
I had a class last night, the last of a ten week series called Mind/Body at Project Quest. I was feeling sad and out of sorts from my earlier experience, being unable to work even a half day. The woman next to me was wearing some sort of perfume. It wasn’t particularly strong but I started feeling sicker and sicker. I tried to stay in the room, but my head ached and I finally had to leave. I was frustrated by my fragility. I’ve been feeling upset ever since. I went to a writing class today and wrote a very depressed little piece that I was too upset to read. I’m processing a lot of loss right now. The biggest lost is my energy and how that defines my sense of self.
I went on line, just looking at the job possibilities. I found a job that intrigued me, but I’m not going to apply for it. It’s too much and I’ve promised myself to wait a couple of months. I want to rush to the next thing but it isn’t the time yet.
I keep trying to look for the gifts in this situation. The freedom to attend writing classes and art classes and do the crossword puzzle in the morning, the freedom to slow down, to process, to grieve losses, to meditate, to draw, to lie in bed after waking for as long as I’d like, these are the advantages. It’s time to appreciate these and not go pushing the river, trying to get back on my feet before I’m ready.
He then left for Salem and I sat down at my desk. I went through some email and opened and closed the drawers of my desk. I looked online at some relevant websites to the study. I thought about watering the plants, but it seemed like a lot of effort. I realized that I was really tired. I wasn’t ready to make my brain work. I wasn’t ready to be at work. I was really disappointed.
Today would be another chemo day if I were still doing chemo. I’m six weeks out from my last treatment. If I wasn’t on layoff status (which means I can work or not until actual layoff and still get paid) I would have been scheduled to begin full time work on April 2nd. An hour and a half was as much as I could handle yesterday.
Prior to my surgery and treatment, a typical day would start at 5:30 am, with aerobics or yoga or weightlifting, then I’d get ready for work, eat breakfast, make a lunch for myself, hop on my bicycle and ride 4 ½ miles to work. I’d then work a full day, often eating at my desk because I had so much going on, then leave at 5 pm or so, and would usually have a class or meeting in the evening. All that seems so impossible now.
I had a class last night, the last of a ten week series called Mind/Body at Project Quest. I was feeling sad and out of sorts from my earlier experience, being unable to work even a half day. The woman next to me was wearing some sort of perfume. It wasn’t particularly strong but I started feeling sicker and sicker. I tried to stay in the room, but my head ached and I finally had to leave. I was frustrated by my fragility. I’ve been feeling upset ever since. I went to a writing class today and wrote a very depressed little piece that I was too upset to read. I’m processing a lot of loss right now. The biggest lost is my energy and how that defines my sense of self.
I went on line, just looking at the job possibilities. I found a job that intrigued me, but I’m not going to apply for it. It’s too much and I’ve promised myself to wait a couple of months. I want to rush to the next thing but it isn’t the time yet.
I keep trying to look for the gifts in this situation. The freedom to attend writing classes and art classes and do the crossword puzzle in the morning, the freedom to slow down, to process, to grieve losses, to meditate, to draw, to lie in bed after waking for as long as I’d like, these are the advantages. It’s time to appreciate these and not go pushing the river, trying to get back on my feet before I’m ready.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Gail et Moi
Gail has always been a hoot. She’s an outspoken, smart, funny, go-for-broke kind of gal, and can always be counted to say exactly what’s on her mind. She does not suffer fools gladly, but that seems to be a given among my social group. She’s a criminal defense lawyer for a living. She and I work with a similar clientele. She gets them off scot free. I try to redeem them. It’s thankless work, no matter how you look at it. But she will tirelessly go to bat for the undeserving louts and fight like a bulldog. In the meantime, she manages to piss off judges and other lawyers, mainly because, as I mentioned before, she does not suffer fools gladly, or even quietly.
She was kind enough to drive to the Haight to come see me as I find riding Muni to be too daunting in my current delicate condition, much as I would love to visit North Beach again. She and Wolf attend the Iowa Writer’s Workshop together in the late seventies, so we all three went out to lunch. They hadn’t seen each other in years. We talked about law, writing, kids, the usual stuff. I though how pleasant it was not to be a writer, only someone with a blog and no ambition in the writerly direction.
After lunch we took ourselves the Conservatory in Golden Gate Park. It was a free day so we mingled with the riffraff and viewed the pretty plants. Golden Gate is much as it ever was, although the De Young has become a hideous metal monster that resembles an office trash basket and strange things are happening to science museum. It is lovely to sniff the eucalyptus, a scent one won’t find outside a bottle in Portland.
We ambled back to the Haight where Wolf bought us some Italian soda and we sat on the stoop to drink it and watch the passing scene. Soon the afternoon had been frittered away in the most delightful fashion and it was Nap Time so Gail climbed into her SUV and Wolf and I climbed the stairs to our respective bedrooms and went down for a snooze. I had an invitation for a seder and I needed some time to resurrect. The simplest excursions tire me out. We had walked, mmm, perhaps two miles and that was enough.
She was kind enough to drive to the Haight to come see me as I find riding Muni to be too daunting in my current delicate condition, much as I would love to visit North Beach again. She and Wolf attend the Iowa Writer’s Workshop together in the late seventies, so we all three went out to lunch. They hadn’t seen each other in years. We talked about law, writing, kids, the usual stuff. I though how pleasant it was not to be a writer, only someone with a blog and no ambition in the writerly direction.
After lunch we took ourselves the Conservatory in Golden Gate Park. It was a free day so we mingled with the riffraff and viewed the pretty plants. Golden Gate is much as it ever was, although the De Young has become a hideous metal monster that resembles an office trash basket and strange things are happening to science museum. It is lovely to sniff the eucalyptus, a scent one won’t find outside a bottle in Portland.
We ambled back to the Haight where Wolf bought us some Italian soda and we sat on the stoop to drink it and watch the passing scene. Soon the afternoon had been frittered away in the most delightful fashion and it was Nap Time so Gail climbed into her SUV and Wolf and I climbed the stairs to our respective bedrooms and went down for a snooze. I had an invitation for a seder and I needed some time to resurrect. The simplest excursions tire me out. We had walked, mmm, perhaps two miles and that was enough.
I took off my wig because it gets tiresome after a while. I have a bit of fuzz now, but it’s not even at the convict haircut stage. Linda Grace, taking note of my baldness, dipped into a large jar of peculiar knitted hats that she had made and bade me chose one. I found that the most peculiar of the lot suited me to a tee (go figure). It was lavender with a long fuzzy beige platypus tail. Despite being made out of a fine, light weight yarn, it’s warm and friendly to a lightly fuzzed pate and it has become a good companion.
The darkness fell and it was time to pile into the truck again. Linda drove me back to the Haight and she went to see a friend play a jazz recital on Polk Street. I fell into bed happy and satisfied. It is so good to catch up with old friends.
The darkness fell and it was time to pile into the truck again. Linda drove me back to the Haight and she went to see a friend play a jazz recital on Polk Street. I fell into bed happy and satisfied. It is so good to catch up with old friends.
We walked to the beach from her house, just a few blocks to take in the local scene. She lived there as a young hippy and was able to compare and contrast then and now. Evidently geologic time is happening in the speeded up version. Much of the beach road had been eroded away in the intervening decades. We looked at a very weathered building made by a local artist. We watched someone parasurfing in the waves, a spectacular sort of sport, a combination of surfing, kite flying, and sailing. It looked really fun and something that I would never be able to do, requiring an athletic prowess that is completely beyond me. I’ve never been one for water sports. I dislike being rocketed around in the waves. I swim, but only barely and in a highly inefficient way. Still, it was great fun to watch this fellow.
Linda Grace and I went back to her living space and talked into the evening surrounding by the usual gaggle of dogs that she is accustomed to living with. The latest dog is a very peculiar dog that seems to be a combination Italian greyhound and miniature dachshund, having gotten the short end of the stick from both parents. Lucky is her oldest dog, about 14. He’s in better shape than Maggie, but that’s not saying much. He spent most of the time sleeping on the couch. There was also a Vishla there, who belonged to one of the girls. She was a magnificent beast, a real beauty. She, however, has an appetite for small electronics, never a good thing for a dog, or for the electronics, for that matter.
Linda Grace and I went back to her living space and talked into the evening surrounding by the usual gaggle of dogs that she is accustomed to living with. The latest dog is a very peculiar dog that seems to be a combination Italian greyhound and miniature dachshund, having gotten the short end of the stick from both parents. Lucky is her oldest dog, about 14. He’s in better shape than Maggie, but that’s not saying much. He spent most of the time sleeping on the couch. There was also a Vishla there, who belonged to one of the girls. She was a magnificent beast, a real beauty. She, however, has an appetite for small electronics, never a good thing for a dog, or for the electronics, for that matter.
A Day with Linda Grace
Linda Grace came a picked me up on Monday for a nice drive to Pescadero. Despite having bounced from San Francisco to Santa Cruz for several years of my early adulthood, I had never turned off of Highway 1 to drive the two miles inland to visit Pescadero. It was a beautiful little town settled by Portuguese long enough ago to have given rise to some very pretty houses. We had cream of artichoke soup at Duarte’s accompanied by some of the best sour dough bread I have ever eaten. It was the day before Passover and wheat of any kind is definitely not on my diet, but I didn’t care. You don’t pass up bread like that when it’s plunked in front of you. No way, no how. We ate up the first basket and then asked for another.
Next we drove the stage coach road to San Gregorio, a beautiful ride through the Kelly green hills. We stopped at the General Store there and Linda Grace had some coffee while I looked on with envy. Coffee is one of those things I’ve had to give up, it being carcinogenic and all, and it’s perhaps the thing I miss the most. Linda Grace found a nice tote bag for $4 that said “Danger, Men Cooking” to add to her décor, then we got in her truck and made our way to Half Moon Bay where she has lived for the past three years.
We pulled into an alley and stopped by her garage, which has now become her home. It once house an RV, a full workshop and lots of the sort of junk favored by hyper-masculine types, pipes, car parts and the like. She put in a kitchen and a bathroom and lives in splendor in this large and lofty space. She points out that there is no stove. She no longer cooks; having spent years in front of a stove, it no longer has any appeal. She plays music as much as she can manage. She spent many years too ill to play, suffering from a rare condition, tumors on her parathyroid. It rendered her impossibly tired and so mentally slowed down that she couldn’t think fast enough to play music with other people. Finally, she got the surgery she needed and she’s back in the game, playing well with others.
She lives there with her two daughters who are are now 22 and 25 or thereabouts. They live in the house in front of Linda Grace’s garage. I met Lillian. She had just come in from work. She’s about to transfer to Mills College. Iris is working for Neiman Marcus at a job that will turn into a career if she sticks with it.
Linda Grace is also allergic to earning money. Or rather, she’s like me, not a great earner. She is about to sell her house at the beach and move north, probably to Oregon. She loves Half Moon Bay, but it’s out of her price range and keeping up the payments is too difficult, even though her daughters are rent payers. Ah, real estate in California. Unless one is a trust fund baby, it’s pretty unreachable. I moved north a couple of decades ago, which is the only reason I’m not still renting.
Next we drove the stage coach road to San Gregorio, a beautiful ride through the Kelly green hills. We stopped at the General Store there and Linda Grace had some coffee while I looked on with envy. Coffee is one of those things I’ve had to give up, it being carcinogenic and all, and it’s perhaps the thing I miss the most. Linda Grace found a nice tote bag for $4 that said “Danger, Men Cooking” to add to her décor, then we got in her truck and made our way to Half Moon Bay where she has lived for the past three years.
We pulled into an alley and stopped by her garage, which has now become her home. It once house an RV, a full workshop and lots of the sort of junk favored by hyper-masculine types, pipes, car parts and the like. She put in a kitchen and a bathroom and lives in splendor in this large and lofty space. She points out that there is no stove. She no longer cooks; having spent years in front of a stove, it no longer has any appeal. She plays music as much as she can manage. She spent many years too ill to play, suffering from a rare condition, tumors on her parathyroid. It rendered her impossibly tired and so mentally slowed down that she couldn’t think fast enough to play music with other people. Finally, she got the surgery she needed and she’s back in the game, playing well with others.
She lives there with her two daughters who are are now 22 and 25 or thereabouts. They live in the house in front of Linda Grace’s garage. I met Lillian. She had just come in from work. She’s about to transfer to Mills College. Iris is working for Neiman Marcus at a job that will turn into a career if she sticks with it.
Linda Grace is also allergic to earning money. Or rather, she’s like me, not a great earner. She is about to sell her house at the beach and move north, probably to Oregon. She loves Half Moon Bay, but it’s out of her price range and keeping up the payments is too difficult, even though her daughters are rent payers. Ah, real estate in California. Unless one is a trust fund baby, it’s pretty unreachable. I moved north a couple of decades ago, which is the only reason I’m not still renting.
Visiting Jasper in the Bay Area
I haven’t been posting lately because I’m in San Francisco. I’ve been having a busy time for me, although for a normal person it wouldn’t be. Last Friday I hiked over a tall hill in Noe Valley to the Castro and later in the day Wolf and I walked to the merry-go-round in Golden Gate park where I rassled down a zebra and rode it bareback. I paid for my brashness the next day with exhaustion. It’s still the rule: a good day followed by a low energy day.
Jasper and his new girlfriend Sarah came over to visit on Saturday. I find that holding court at Wolf’s house is a much better idea than trying to chase all over the Bay Area to visit people. He and Sarah took me out to brunch. I didn’t resist because I knew how frustrating it was for me when my father would never let me pay for a meal. We walked over to Shrader Street to gaze at the apartment where he spent the first year of his life. It was a short jaunt back to Cole Street and Wolf’s house, which was good because I was only up to a short jaunt at that point. Wolf provided tea and berries.
Jasper has many projects in the fire. This year he is in charge of the show at Stage Left at the Oregon Country Fair, which is a large undertaking, as I can attest, having been put in that position a few times. He is lining up acts, begging for passes and money for them, and dealing with the intractable infrastructure and political patronage that makes the U.S. Senate seem like a simple child’s game. The idea is to bring in a whole new generation of performers, that is, our children, and let the old people stand aside for a change. It will be refreshing to see an ingénue who is under the age of 50 on our stage.
He’s also landed a day job doing some sort of marketing of cable systems. He can set his own hours. However he has to commute in a car to his area, which isn’t exactly to his liking. Unfortunately, he seems to be as allergic to earning money as his parents, preferring the arts, just as we did. I’m afraid that I’m going to be one of those people, who, on their deathbed, regrets not having spent more time at the office. Jasper, however, is young enough not to feel such regrets. He observes those whose only purpose is to make money and acquire expensive objects as basically shallow. And he points out that his dad and I seem basically happy, which is true. Money isn’t everything. I may be driving a 15 year old car, but it works and it’s a car that my parents drove and hence has great sentimental value. And we live in a lovely house with lots of pleasant people. Who could ask for anything more? Oh, ongoing health insurance and a secure old age? Surely you quibble.
Jasper is also involved in a show called Boylesque. He will play the accordion and keep his clothes on. However, they had a photo shoot and the photos of Jasper were the ones that stood out so he has become the face of Boylesque. Jasper is a little disappointed because the director is oh-so-predictably gay in a 1973-type manner, but it’s thea-tah so he’s going to do it. The show opens in June.
It was lovely to see Jasper and Sarah. We sat in Wolf’s garden until the fog rolled in and we turned into popsicles. It is so bloody cold here in the Haight. I had forgotten. I brought the sort of clothes that easily get me through a Portland winter, but they aren’t adequate for a San Francisco spring.
Jasper and his new girlfriend Sarah came over to visit on Saturday. I find that holding court at Wolf’s house is a much better idea than trying to chase all over the Bay Area to visit people. He and Sarah took me out to brunch. I didn’t resist because I knew how frustrating it was for me when my father would never let me pay for a meal. We walked over to Shrader Street to gaze at the apartment where he spent the first year of his life. It was a short jaunt back to Cole Street and Wolf’s house, which was good because I was only up to a short jaunt at that point. Wolf provided tea and berries.
Jasper has many projects in the fire. This year he is in charge of the show at Stage Left at the Oregon Country Fair, which is a large undertaking, as I can attest, having been put in that position a few times. He is lining up acts, begging for passes and money for them, and dealing with the intractable infrastructure and political patronage that makes the U.S. Senate seem like a simple child’s game. The idea is to bring in a whole new generation of performers, that is, our children, and let the old people stand aside for a change. It will be refreshing to see an ingénue who is under the age of 50 on our stage.
He’s also landed a day job doing some sort of marketing of cable systems. He can set his own hours. However he has to commute in a car to his area, which isn’t exactly to his liking. Unfortunately, he seems to be as allergic to earning money as his parents, preferring the arts, just as we did. I’m afraid that I’m going to be one of those people, who, on their deathbed, regrets not having spent more time at the office. Jasper, however, is young enough not to feel such regrets. He observes those whose only purpose is to make money and acquire expensive objects as basically shallow. And he points out that his dad and I seem basically happy, which is true. Money isn’t everything. I may be driving a 15 year old car, but it works and it’s a car that my parents drove and hence has great sentimental value. And we live in a lovely house with lots of pleasant people. Who could ask for anything more? Oh, ongoing health insurance and a secure old age? Surely you quibble.
Jasper is also involved in a show called Boylesque. He will play the accordion and keep his clothes on. However, they had a photo shoot and the photos of Jasper were the ones that stood out so he has become the face of Boylesque. Jasper is a little disappointed because the director is oh-so-predictably gay in a 1973-type manner, but it’s thea-tah so he’s going to do it. The show opens in June.
It was lovely to see Jasper and Sarah. We sat in Wolf’s garden until the fog rolled in and we turned into popsicles. It is so bloody cold here in the Haight. I had forgotten. I brought the sort of clothes that easily get me through a Portland winter, but they aren’t adequate for a San Francisco spring.
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