About 30% of people diagnosed with breast cancer at any stage will develop distal metastasis. I am one.
Another Hopkins poem, a lament written in saddened outrage at the felling of these trees, but which I love for the pleasure of the rhyme and rhythm and for the startling, shocking imagery in the second part. Binsey Poplars, felled in 1879 My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled, Quelled...
More than one person has asked me why I dislike identifying myself as “a survivor”, and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. After all, I could easily call myself a cancer survivor (Have I survived yet? Part I and Part II), a survivor of terrorism (My first bus...
Some very kind friends gently chastised me today for getting too wound up in following the news, which is… well, this is the Middle East. I was reminded of a sort of saying about personal safety in an uncertain situation. I don’t know its origin. Either there will be a...
I’ve always been attracted to life on the margins. People and places and things that are out of the mainstream always seem more colorful to me, more interesting. Now, in the full glory of middle life, I have chosen a lifestyle that puts me on the margins of society. Some...
Time for a break from illness, trauma and introspection and to take a look at one of the many little things that give me pleasure in life: making bobbin lace. I got into lacemaking after learning to knit when I was a very little girl, learning crochet and various kinds...
Today I read a post called “Pigeons” in one of my regular blog-reads, Table for One by Solitary Diner. I stopped short at this: But as I thought about it, I realized that despite having a long list of potential self improvement projects, I am fundamentally happy. Not all the time, certainly not at...
Today I read a post called “Pigeons” in one of my regular blog-reads, Table for One by Solitary Diner. I stopped short at this: But as I thought about it, I realized that despite having a long list of potential self improvement projects, I am fundamentally happy. Not all the time, certainly...
Since I am come to that holy room, Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore, I shall be made thy music, as I come I tune the instrument here at the door, And what I must do then, think now before. ….. This is the first...
I’ve been dipping into Emily Dickinson while ill in bed the last few days. My parents gave me a little book of a few of her poems when I was about 10 or 11 years old, and I’ve been reading her ever since. No matter what I am feeling, she...
“Didn’t you get regular check-ups? Is it in your family? Do you smoke? You bottle up your feelings too much and now your body is expressing them for you. You should meditate. You’re not eating properly. Did you or your parents ever have dealings with the occult? There must be...
