All about my circuitous navigation, after being diagnosed with breast cancer, through conventional Western medicine, alternatives to conventional Western medicine, and the ensuing mind/body/spirit explorations and epiphanies (plus numerous digressions).
This is Sarah, a member of my writing group, TIAPOS. She's a hot shot chef in Sonoma/Napa and when she's not consumed by cooking, creating recipes for Gourmet magazine, or writing a new cookbook about edible urban plants, she hauls herself over hill and dale to attend our twice-a-month meetings. Her writing is the epitome of "food-erotica." Like another of our group members, Spotty West, she writes a great deal about her childhood in the deep rural South.
I like this shot of Eric, a member of my writing group, TIAPOS. He treks in all the way from San Leandro for our bi-weekly meetings, often on his bicycle, which I find almost unimaginable. Of course, Eric also teaches kindergartners and first graders in a public Oakland school, which is also pretty amazing and hard for me to imagine. He writes a lot about his wacky, often rural childhood in the South. Also nature and environmental issues. Also writes poems, which he pronounces POE-ehms, or maybe it's more like POE-WEMs.
My posts: Cancer post. Dog post. Leaf post. Cancer post. Dog post. Leaf post. Etc. Etc. Etc. Oy. Have I left anything out? Oh, right! Occasional mentions of my vagabond son. Periodic poor me whines, poetic fragments, crumbling urban wall shots.
Let me preface this YouTube lecture by saying three things:
1. I don't like Ty's tie (understatement).
2. I don't like Ty's hair.
3. I don't like Ty's "howdy doody everybody!", "God says this," and "God knows that" Bible belt preacher style. Ugh.
His isn't as bad as some, though, so I am able to listen to him.
And, that said, I think that when you strip away these offensive elements, the man is:
The only "creative writing" I could muster for yesterday and today were four poetic-y prose-y twitter posts, each limited to a max of 140 characters. I actually like the word count restriction; it's like trying to write haiku, only you get to blindly toss them out into the Twitter Universe.
Jack, of course. This recession has taken a big fat bite out of his work flow. Times are tough. He's licensed, bonded and insured; he's pays into Workman's Compensation, etc...but he has to compete with droves of unlicensed housepainters who can charge less BECAUSE they are unlicensed, unbonded, uninsured, and don't pay into worker's comp.
I've set aside today for doing pretty much nothing but worrying, and I'm lovin' it. I get to not get dressed, just schlog around in my hot pink bathrobe. I get to leave the bed unmade, watch NCIS reruns, and, although still working, keep the working at half-mast...doing nothing in an orderly or efficient way. Instead, I get to hop from one tiny task to another, none of them related, gluing them all together with my sticky globs of worry.
A couple of days ago Jack, Olivia and I took a brief morning walk up to Cortland, scones & Martha's coffee, then a few blocks roundabout. I took my trusty Canon but was uninspired.
Just as we approached home, I looked down and saw one of my favorite subjects: decaying leaves. These particular leaves were dog urine-smelly, piled next to some corrugated plastic barrier thingie that our neighbor had put in front of a few potted plants.
Something about the way the sun was hitting the leaves made me crouch down and, while Jack and Olivia waited, waddle around in a squat position, snapping away. It took two minutes, max, and as usual I hurried home to see if I had managed to capture anything good. Imagine my surprise when I saw these magical looking images! Jack was even more surprised. Surprise is so good.
My Saturday night, now about to begin, was prefaced by my Saturday day:
Got up at 6 a.m. Finished updating the Writing Salon website (except for adding new testimonials, creating several cross-referencing links that are needed but not absolutely essential, creating the schedule of all sessions in 2010, and other stuff that would be nice but can wait a few more days...).
From another alternative health email newsletter that I subscribe to, from Dr. Isaac Eliaz (his website is HERE):
Just a couple of days ago, I stumbled across a truly infuriating story in The New York Times. The headline?
“Promising Results in Stomach and Breast Cancer Drugs”
Now, considering the fact that a large portion of my career has been devoted to the search for effective cancer therapies, you might find my frustration just a little confusing. After all, it goes without saying that any progress in the fight against cancer—however small—is incredibly good news that’s worth celebrating.
Grabbed a clean Olivia (freshly bathed at Kosita's, finally) and raced over to the Writing Salon loft to leave fresh decaf and cookies for the novel class that was starting last night. Then I and my sweet-smelling Terrier Girl took a stroll on York and Bryant streets...