round three

This morning, the nanny and I loaded the boys into the car and went to see the ducks at St. Kate's. It was the last taste of normal for the next week. This afternoon, Ryan, the nurse from Fairview Home Infusion who has hooked me up to my chemo pumps each month, came over and hooked me up again. As I write, the chemical taste of the drugs is swirling around my mouth, and I'm slowly feeling them seep through my body. I had a tiny taste of nausea in my throat earlier, which worries me. It didn't start until the second or third day last month. I hope I hold up OK this time.

A woman with whom I used to discuss dreams dropped off some books last night while I was out to dinner with some friends. (We went to the new Salut, where Sidney's used to be, on Grand Avenue.) In the bag was a meditation for focusing on best-case scenarios. It was exactly what I need right now. I've been finding myself drifting too often to the worst-case scenario, almost as a default. I have to force myself away from it — to imagine, for example, that I will still be around when we're deciding where to send the boys to school, or when they become teenagers and we have to talk to them about sex and drugs. So. Best-case scenarios.

At acupuncture last week, the acupuncturist, Susan, suggested that I imagine myself as an 80-year-old woman and have a conversation with that woman. As I lay on the table, I tried it. I found that my 80-year-old self did all the talking. It was comforting and almost mystical, and when I told Susan about it afterward, tears came to my eyes. Acupuncture does that to me, though. It alters my mental and emotional state. I wonder if it alters my physical state, too. I wonder if it accounts for the spectacular results of my blood lab work this morning. The nurse was pretty impressed: "Wow, that platelet level is something!"

loud and clear

Last weekend, we went to a local garden store called Linder's and bought a few annuals and a dogwood shrub to plant in our back yard. The next day, we decided to go back and get another dogwood to plant next to the first one. At lunch, we debated whether to put Daniel down for his nap and have just Steve go, or to load us all up in the car and go. Daniel must have heard us because he loudly proclaimed this fine six-word sentence:

"I want to go to Linder's!"

I smiled. I love his clear little voice. And we all went to Linder's.

Daniel often refers to himself in the third person: "Daniel want to go outside." But lately, he's found his "I" voice:

"I don't like cobwebs."

"I don't like bees."

"I don't like beans."

He's also learning rules and repeats them randomly, as if he just thinks about them a lot:

"Don't run in the street."

"Don't touch the saw."

He is definitely a toddler now. And such a boy.

ben's first boo-boo

Yep ... he got cut with the nail clippers, and now he's wearing a tiny bandage on his finger. He's perfectly fine, but he sure bled a lot at first (and gave us a scare!)


He's also developing his hand skills and is able to pick a few things up. (He can pull his paci out of his mouth, too.)

playmates

Play group was at our house today, and the little girls had a good time playing on Daniel's new race car bed. Who knows when he'll will have four girls on his bed again? Especially four as cute as Annabel, Beela, Evelyn and Calla!


In early childhood education lingo, they tell us about the progression of children's play, and how young toddlers often play alongside each other (parallel play) but don't learn how to play with each other — actually engage each other in play (cooperative play) — until they get a little older. Daniel and Beela stood together at the easel, both drawing on the paper, which is typical parallel play, but then I heard Daniel tell Beela, "That's a line." Is that the beginnings of cooperative play? Maybe. And how about when Beela goes in to give Daniel a goodbye hug? (She tried to give him a kiss, but she couldn't pull the pacifier out of his mouth.) Whatever it is, it's pretty darn cute.

don't know much about history

I have never liked the Fourth of July. I like fireworks, but I don't like pushing through crowds to get a good view of them. I don't feel particularly comfortable at pool parties. I didn't grow up in a family that barbecues or goes to "the lake." (We were in Oregon.) I see the Fourth as a holiday designed for extraverts, not me.

That's why the one and only thing I did this year to observe the holiday was the one thing that comes naturally to reserved introverts: I read the Declaration of Independence. And this time, I really read it and thought about it. I figured, it's probably one of those things I should do in my lifetime, so I might as well do it now. (It didn't hurt that it was a nice day on the patio!) My journalist mind kicked into gear as I tried to translate the 232-year-old text into simpler language (though Jefferson's own is beautiful enough), and when I got to the long laundry list of complaints about the king of England, I found myself wishing I'd paid more attention in my high school history classes. I wanted details.

"For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world ..."
"For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences ..."
"He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands."

Wow. I knew the colonists didn't like King George, but I guess I had never grasped the extent of the things he had done to try to suppress the colonies. I would love to know the specifics of what really happened to spur all those complaints. It would make a good HBO or Showtime miniseries, I think — I envision something sexy and violent and quasi-historical along the lines of "The Tudors."

I also found myself wondering what the British side of the story was. The Declaration of Independence is written in a highly persuasive rhetorical fashion, but what if an equally persuasive Brit were to write a rebuttal? What would it say? (Oh, I'm sure it's been done, and I am just not aware of it.) Benjamin Franklin had lived in London for a while and was an admirer of English royalty, I think. Did he have trouble signing the declaration?

And then, as I perused the list of names of men who had signed the document, I saw a familiar one from New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett. The same name as the fictional president on The West Wing, who also was from New Hampshire (but spelled his name with only one t). How did I not know that before?

hard tears

These lazy days between chemo treatments lull me into almost forgetting I have serious, stage four cancer. Sure, there are the obvious reminders, like my cane, like the Hickman catheter that I have to flush and clean every two days, but that's 15 minutes, and then I'm not thinking about it anymore. The summer days drift by, and I'm busy enjoying my boys or sitting on the patio or reading a fascinating book and thinking about how much there is to learn and see in this world, this life. But then it hits me hard, like when Daniel and I are napping on the bed together and he hears a noise and stirs and reaches out and touches my arm and then goes back to sleep, and I see how much my presence comforts him, and I start crying. Or I'm lying in bed with Steve and suddenly the reality of my situation hits me so hard that I start sobbing on his shoulder and punching my fist against his back, almost like I'm having a tantrum, saying, "I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to go." There's nothing to do but cry, and pray, and then I usually get back to the business of living for each day. But those times haunt me. They haunt me today.

fence

Privacy in the back and security at the gates make for a whole new feel in our back yard. Dakota Fence of Minnesota did the work, and they did a fantastic job with our little space. We are loving it.

Before ...


During ...


After ... (One thing we learned during this process is that the horizontal rails customarily face the yard of whomever owns the fence. The neighbor gets the nicer, finished side.)


Before ...


After ...


A side yard view with the gate open ...


Busy yard ...


"Stuck." That's what Daniel says when he encounters a gate he can't push open. (We decided to keep one side of chain link fence that adjoins our neighbor's very private and beautiful yard. To replace it would have meant trampling on her extensive and gorgeous landscaping — and besides, we didn't want to lose the view.)


The crew (plus Daniel and our nanny) pose next to the main front gate.



Next stop: The garden store! Now that we have a proper yard, we want to try to landscape the back section a little more.

'otherwise'

The date on the faded receipt reads Sunday, Jun 16, 2002. Six years ago. (Edited to correct the math!) Six years ago that I started a ritual of buying a book at Drury Lane Books each time Steve and I visited Grand Marais. Six years ago that I bought the book of poems I pulled off the shelf again last night to revisit. I remember standing in the front room of the little bookstore and picking up this book. I remember how it hooked me from the moment I started reading the back cover. I remember how I cried as I read the title poem to Steve. Last night, we read it again, and we both wept. Here it is:

Otherwise
By Jane Kenyon

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Jane Kenyon was married to the poet Donald Hall. She died of leukemia in 1995 while compiling this collection of poems.