About 30% of people diagnosed with breast cancer at any stage will develop distal metastasis. I am one.
A smarty and funny Twitter friend and blogger recently reminded me of William Ernest Henley’s poem Invictus. Think of it as a Victorian teenage boy’s version of Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive. At the dawn of his adolescence, Henley was stricken by osseous tuberculosis, eventually having to endure a below-the-knee...
Here it comes… are you ready? I am about to share with you a Major Revelation that was the result of my self-centered navel gazing and pity pot sitting of the last several weeks. Ready? Here it is: Feelings are not the boss of me. […] My fundamental happiness takes...
Today I found myself writing, “I am at the -ish phase of my life. Retired-ish. Working-ish.” I could add old-ish, sick-ish, energetic-ish, productive-ish. That’s kind of yuck-ish. All my life, my choices and behavior have been decisive and even radical. I have made stellar mistakes and accepted the consequences. I...
Writing the posts about being on a bus when it was bombed (Part I – Part II – Part III) has been an interesting experience. Even today, over twenty years afterwards, memories came rushing back as I re-read what I wrote. I close my eyes and see what I saw when...
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...
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...
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...
“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...
When I read Robert Morgan’s poem “Maple Gall” a few days ago, the first phrases to strike me were tortured cluster of malignancies… cells grow drunk… awful excess growths and, of course, I thought of the cancer that I live with, and I was drawn in. I continued to read beauty...
