Some, maybe many people, wonder how Carri and I can be friends when we are so very, very different. (We've wondered it too and discussed it many times in our hour long morning phone calls.) I think both of us are still amazed that this friendship has endured almost twenty years...especially when you consider the way it really got kicked into high gear. Quite simply, our beloved, lithe, petite, softspoken Carri PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE! Yes, intentionally! She was trying to get a point across and boy, did I learn a valuable lesson. (That lesson will become clear soon.) She says I can do this story Justice and it's funny that she said that because "Justice" is how the whole fight got started.
November 1991...
Carri and I had already had a few sleepovers, sat next to each other at lunch and due to our last names starting with a B and C, we were usually assigned classroom seats right next to each other. Things were good but at that point our friendship wasn't anything exceptional, at least, not that we recognized.
History Class with Mr. Solmitz (an aging hippie with an afro hairstyle) was always interesting as he didn't really follow a curriculum. I don't think we opened our books in class more than ten times that year. What he valued most was discussion, especially about how current events related to history. He loved debate.
That infamous day, we started a topic about punishment and justice. I went first on this because I was, well, a loudmouthed, passionate Scorpio with very strong opinions about Justice. My take was that it was better to take some time to really plan out a proper punishment rather than immediate retribution. I liked the idea of the planning out the Perfect fate for some criminal. (Hey, I was fourteen years old, what did I know?)
Just then, my little quiet friend from one desk over chimed in. Apparently, my statement was just too much for her to bear in silence. "Excuse me, Tanya" she softly and politely interjected. "Are you telling us that if I punched you in the face right now, you would rather plot and plan my punishment than punch me right back? Honestly, Tanya, if I punched you right now, I guarantee you would hit me right back and it would make you feel a lot better than walking around seething with the anticipation of my punishment."
I was stunned. How could this girl know and understand so little about me? I don't say anything I don't truly believe and besides, she would never hit me. The idea hit me as preposterous and I laughed, sputtering out "But Carri, You would never hit me so this isn't even a real hypothetical to draw any conclusions from."
"But just for the sake of argument, let's pretend I hit you..." said Carri before I quickly interrupted, " But you wouldn't, you just wouldn't." She tried again "But Tanya, let's just say", again, I interrupted "but you Wouldn't." Gosh, when would this kid get the hint, drop her unfathomable hypothetical and let me get on with making my case for the class? After trying in vain several more times to get me to agree to her scenario with me interrupting each "But Tanya", I saw her lips tighten into these two thin lines. I didn't see her fist clenching, I never noticed her arm drawing back and as I gave my "But Carri, you wouldn't!" protest one last time, she suckerpunched me. I was dazed, I was sore, I was on the verge of tears when I felt something well up inside me and then, just as she had predicted, I gave her my own right-hook!
Instead of the tears one would expect, this girl burst into laughter. Alas, she had proved her point about immediate grattification and my argument was blown out of the water by a 95lb waif. She laughingly said, "you feel better now don't you?" And as our classmates went from shock to laughter to applause, I started laughing too as we hugged each other and checked out each other's war wounds. Mr. Solmitz gave us an "A" for the day. And we've been best friends ever since.
Now class, here's that valuable lesson we all took away from class that day and it's a real good one that has served us all well.....DUCK!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
360 Degree View
Chemo # 8 of 12
One Full Moon ago I spent the night naked, out in the wild. I told people I know of my plan to spend the night outside in the Silent Pool at Breitenbush Hot Springs.
After I accomplished this little feat, I didn’t have much to share about it…no remarkable revelation…but I do have something to say.
I went alone, on a 2.5 hour drive to a wilderness resort. As my guiding spirits would have it, I met an acquaintance upon my arrival, and we had dinner together. I set up my tent for sleeping when morning came. I offered this space to my Wise Woman friend for the night, since I intended to be in the water.
Where did I find myself when darkness came, instead of in the water? At an ecstatic dance jam-- just shaking my things all over the place with a bunch of folks seeking authenticity and self acceptance.
So I can do that when they say I’m Stage IV. Dance up a sweat with the best of them. And no one I don’t know is the wiser.
I slipped into the pool around 10pm. It was so easy to exist in the nude with the mastectomy scar in the darkness. People silently slipped in and out of the pool until about 2am. What a long night in the darkness, in the geothermal heat of the water. What a long night of resting my head on a rock, and later a rolled up, wet, cold towel. What a long night of experiencing a man or two coming and silently sitting in this pool with me, where talking is taboo.
I was afraid of wildcats. I know what animals they say reside in the forests, mountains and river of the Breitenbush area, and am not familiar with their habits. So besides, being alone in the night with my old PTSD condition related to men sneaking up on me as a child during the night, I was afraid of the native four-legged hunters of this land. I was at times frozen with fear. After all, I was nude, unarmed, and unskilled at self defense. What was I thinking spending the night out there like that?
So I would be mired in this intense fear. I moved around the pool trying to figure from where I would have the best vantage point—and here’s what I learned:
Eventually I have to relax my body, and no one can ever see 360 degrees around them.
I stayed out there until about 6am, with silent, nude stranger-men who had drifted in around 4.
My friend had padded down my tent with extra blankets before her early morning departure, and I slinked off to my nest, slept until 11, enjoyed a geothermal sauna and nude lizard-like bask in the sun, was fortified by organic vegetarian food, and rolled home to my family.
Again, I have to relax my body, and no one can ever see 360 degrees around them to secure safety.
Love, Carri
In Six Months...
One perspective that is sometimes offered to a person dealing with a disease that may or may not lead to their demise is, “Any one of us could die any time. All any of us really has is this moment.”
I agree with that, and I appreciate the perspective shining light on how important this moment is. Seeing this helps me to absorb blessings in the here and now that I might miss in my hurrying along…
Still, making dentist appointments this morning for the next six month check-ups for my boys is different for me than for any random one of us.
I wonder, will I be here next April? Eewww! Here I am, talking with this receptionist about six months down the line, and she is so matter-of-fact about seeing us then as we are now. Inside I am unsure and feeling alone in some predicament…
Yet this is all adventure in my imagination. Someone once said to me, “If you’re going to make stuff up, you might as well make up good stuff.”
-Carri
-Carri
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
The Arlo Barometer
We have been seeing in the United States, that our frogs are indicators of the health of our land and water. Sometimes the frogs are sadly disfigured, due to our poisoning of the earth in our pursuits of modern agribusiness and industrialization. I watched a documentary with the boys last winter about our frogs.
Well now, I am considering the Arlo Barometer. In our home, it is obvious to me that the behaviors, thoughts and feelings shared with us by our five year old are good indicators about how we are doing as a family. He’s close to the earth, close to the source of creation and sustenance.
Friday was two days after chemo treatment #7. I thought I would lie down for a half an hour after my morning session with the Molecular Enhancer and my workout routine. Then my half hour turned into all day. This is something I’ve rarely done. So shocking, that everyone in my house was rather puzzled and annoyed that I was camping out in my bedroom, eating and watching movies.
Arlo came in and said, “Mama, are you alive?” I said, “Yes, are you?” We’ve exchanged this same banter before.
When he came in and asked again, I asked him if he is worried about me being alive. He said yes, and answered my, “Why?” with, “Because of the chemotherapy.”
When he came in and asked again, I asked him if he is worried about me being alive. He said yes, and answered my, “Why?” with, “Because of the chemotherapy.”
Ok, so we had a talk about the chemotherapy and the cancer,about how I’m doing so well and showing no signs of dying. Lying in the bed just sometimes feels best. Silas was just hanging around listening during this conversation, and I could tell that he too was reassured.
Thanks Arlo, for speaking your mind, and sharing your feelings so frequently.
I’m watching the Arlo barometer, for signs of stress and fear, self-assurance and ease, and that helps me know how to support the boys.
-Carri
-Carri
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Oh, Mama
Oh, the excitement of opening up Microsoft Word! Just to open a file where I can paint pictures, blanketed comfy on my couch, with candle flames dancing on the hearth and a breeze running in and out with the children…on this chilly-cloudy day, I have made a nest where life-changing things are happening. Just like the wind, the force behind and the matter of this that bubbles up within me is not something I can see.
Today it is the spiritual practice of mothering and being teacher to my children that is on my mind. Regarding homeschooling in particular, by tradition, I would have normally begun last week, September 1st. But Mama had chemo two weeks in a row. Mama hasn’t gotten her teaching resources together. Mama hasn’t gotten her DAY together half of the time…
That rhythm that makes a home run more like clockwork…it does melt away during the summer, as we become more will of the wisp. Most parents and children adjust to changes in September, so what’s my hang up? Why does getting from here to (where was that again?) seem like a long, steep hill?
Well I got it recently. Along with our routines being swept under the beds all summer, so was the nurturing of our home. It became clear to me that my starting place was our living space; and just like all the Mamas and Papas need to put on their own oxygen masks before those of their children, in an airplane emergency, the place I focused on first was my own bedroom—
The Inner Sanctum
Oh boy, it can sure become a catch all. What a difference when the vision of my altar and Dream Space is in reality, something nurturing to me. The place where I go to let go, relax and dream is good for me.
Then I moved on to the kids. It was a hands and mind and heart absorption into clearing out their living spaces and creating cheerful, celebratory, comforting nests for them, for creating, dreaming and all this growing…I imagine I can HEAR them growing sometimes.
It’s the Womb outside the Womb. The children were born from my body and into my arms. All that time spent in my arms, being fed on mother’s milk, very gradually sitting, rolling, crawling, tiptoeing into Selfhood. It’s cooking, not milk, heartfelt, brief squeezes, not rocking in the chair, that helps them grow now.
Now, as the soil is beginning to feel prepared, I can more easily imagine myself being inspired to engage in some homeschooling with them.
I look forward to the stories and fables I will tell them, weaving together a pattern that will be a reference in moments requiring a noble conscience. I look forward to being near them as the world opens up a little more and a little more, through their natural drive to explore and learn.
I am significantly daunted by the need I have for regaining routine for us. How does Mama rise each day before the children, fit in an hour with the Molecular Enhancer, a varied, time consuming routine for Mind/Body health, and room for the variables that can arise from chemotherapy treatments and the Moody Blahs? There are things I need to be on time for. There is creamy oatmeal to be made with strawberries and coconut. There are morning songs to sing, pies to be made, a home worked as soil amended with physical, intellectual and spiritual nourishment for us all.
Oh, Mama.
- Carri
Today it is the spiritual practice of mothering and being teacher to my children that is on my mind. Regarding homeschooling in particular, by tradition, I would have normally begun last week, September 1st. But Mama had chemo two weeks in a row. Mama hasn’t gotten her teaching resources together. Mama hasn’t gotten her DAY together half of the time…
That rhythm that makes a home run more like clockwork…it does melt away during the summer, as we become more will of the wisp. Most parents and children adjust to changes in September, so what’s my hang up? Why does getting from here to (where was that again?) seem like a long, steep hill?
Well I got it recently. Along with our routines being swept under the beds all summer, so was the nurturing of our home. It became clear to me that my starting place was our living space; and just like all the Mamas and Papas need to put on their own oxygen masks before those of their children, in an airplane emergency, the place I focused on first was my own bedroom—
The Inner Sanctum
Oh boy, it can sure become a catch all. What a difference when the vision of my altar and Dream Space is in reality, something nurturing to me. The place where I go to let go, relax and dream is good for me.
Then I moved on to the kids. It was a hands and mind and heart absorption into clearing out their living spaces and creating cheerful, celebratory, comforting nests for them, for creating, dreaming and all this growing…I imagine I can HEAR them growing sometimes.
It’s the Womb outside the Womb. The children were born from my body and into my arms. All that time spent in my arms, being fed on mother’s milk, very gradually sitting, rolling, crawling, tiptoeing into Selfhood. It’s cooking, not milk, heartfelt, brief squeezes, not rocking in the chair, that helps them grow now.
Now, as the soil is beginning to feel prepared, I can more easily imagine myself being inspired to engage in some homeschooling with them.
I look forward to the stories and fables I will tell them, weaving together a pattern that will be a reference in moments requiring a noble conscience. I look forward to being near them as the world opens up a little more and a little more, through their natural drive to explore and learn.
I am significantly daunted by the need I have for regaining routine for us. How does Mama rise each day before the children, fit in an hour with the Molecular Enhancer, a varied, time consuming routine for Mind/Body health, and room for the variables that can arise from chemotherapy treatments and the Moody Blahs? There are things I need to be on time for. There is creamy oatmeal to be made with strawberries and coconut. There are morning songs to sing, pies to be made, a home worked as soil amended with physical, intellectual and spiritual nourishment for us all.
Oh, Mama.
- Carri
Introducing: The Family Writer vs The Real Writer
Once upon a time, somewhere in my youth, I was labeled "The Writer In The Family". I won some essay contests, public speaking contests and one spelling bee all before the age of thirteen...it was obvious to my family that I was some sort of genius. At least, that's how they made me feel. So, I told myself that I am a writer. As it turns out, what they really meant was "Ah, a new sucker to write our Christmas letters and keep in touch with relatives we'd rather not spend our precious time on." Yes, I was (and still am) the designated letter writer for the entire family.
Truthfully, I do love to write. But here's the kicker- I'm not very good. I still write like an eighth grader and I don't possess words of wisdom. I know tons of big words but they don't sound right coming out of my mouth and half the time my thirty-three and three quarters years old brain can't remember how to spell them anyway. I'm not a very serious woman most of the time. I totally remember my dreams every night and I spend hours wondering what they "really" mean. I have an active imagination to help get me through the monotony of carpool (I like to pretend I'm on a road trip picking up interesting hitchhikers) and it doesn't hurt that every once in a while my husband's face mysteriously morphs into that of Johnny Depp. A serious writer I am not.
I am serious about my role as a wife, mother and friend. This blog is supposed to be a cooperative effort between me and said Best Friend but I still can't figure out this Blog thing enough to make it so she can post any time the whimsy hits her. So for now I'll have to repost her writings for her. Don't worry, you won't need me to tell you which posts are mine and which are hers-it will be obvious. Carri IS a seriously amazing writer. She's been writing like a wise old woman since she was a kid and published her first short story about a heroic tale of saving a beloved cat. (okay, that doesn't sound so amazing right now but trust me on this.)
So, this is the only time I'll address the differences in Blog Posts. When you want to read something so good it should be in a book instead of this Blog tune in for Carri's stuff. It's absolutely Free.
Now, I've got to go and figure out exactly how to get her stuff on here.
(By the way, my next post will be the story of Carri's visit to her local Nudist Colony. She may be brilliant but she's never boring!)
Truthfully, I do love to write. But here's the kicker- I'm not very good. I still write like an eighth grader and I don't possess words of wisdom. I know tons of big words but they don't sound right coming out of my mouth and half the time my thirty-three and three quarters years old brain can't remember how to spell them anyway. I'm not a very serious woman most of the time. I totally remember my dreams every night and I spend hours wondering what they "really" mean. I have an active imagination to help get me through the monotony of carpool (I like to pretend I'm on a road trip picking up interesting hitchhikers) and it doesn't hurt that every once in a while my husband's face mysteriously morphs into that of Johnny Depp. A serious writer I am not.
I am serious about my role as a wife, mother and friend. This blog is supposed to be a cooperative effort between me and said Best Friend but I still can't figure out this Blog thing enough to make it so she can post any time the whimsy hits her. So for now I'll have to repost her writings for her. Don't worry, you won't need me to tell you which posts are mine and which are hers-it will be obvious. Carri IS a seriously amazing writer. She's been writing like a wise old woman since she was a kid and published her first short story about a heroic tale of saving a beloved cat. (okay, that doesn't sound so amazing right now but trust me on this.)
So, this is the only time I'll address the differences in Blog Posts. When you want to read something so good it should be in a book instead of this Blog tune in for Carri's stuff. It's absolutely Free.
Now, I've got to go and figure out exactly how to get her stuff on here.
(By the way, my next post will be the story of Carri's visit to her local Nudist Colony. She may be brilliant but she's never boring!)
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
We Can Do This
On opposite sides of the country, my best friend and I were looking at the same four walls you find in every hospital. I was rapturously nursing my newborn daughter at my breast while my best friend was saying goodbye to one of hers. At the ripe old age of 33, she was undergoing a mastectomy while I was in an O.R. getting my tubes tied.
We've been friends since we were fourteen and though, most of our friendship has been spent in separate states, due to a move by my family, we have led pretty parallel lives...up until a year and a half ago.
Now, there's nothing funny about having cancer or loving someone with cancer but we've realized during this long journey that you have to laugh and you have to find humor. And that's one of the reasons this blog has come into existence. Maybe we won't be able to poke fun at ourselves every day but we"re sure as hell going to try to make someone smile.
For her latest round of chemo I began sending one funny card to her every day...then I ran out of stamps (or as my three year old muralist likes to call them, stickers).
Hence, a blog she can access everyday for a little tee-hee-hee-hee and support. We've been each other's lifelines for twenty years but this cancer thing, man, I'm gonna need your help to fight this foe. Funny mom stories, funny friend stories, jokes, inspirational writings, quotes.
And I'll do my part. I promise, it'll be funny.
Now, I've got to see if this thing really worked. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to computers but if Carri can sit in a chemo chair for ten hour days, I can hen-peck my way through this mysterious world of blogging.
We've been friends since we were fourteen and though, most of our friendship has been spent in separate states, due to a move by my family, we have led pretty parallel lives...up until a year and a half ago.
Now, there's nothing funny about having cancer or loving someone with cancer but we've realized during this long journey that you have to laugh and you have to find humor. And that's one of the reasons this blog has come into existence. Maybe we won't be able to poke fun at ourselves every day but we"re sure as hell going to try to make someone smile.
For her latest round of chemo I began sending one funny card to her every day...then I ran out of stamps (or as my three year old muralist likes to call them, stickers).
Hence, a blog she can access everyday for a little tee-hee-hee-hee and support. We've been each other's lifelines for twenty years but this cancer thing, man, I'm gonna need your help to fight this foe. Funny mom stories, funny friend stories, jokes, inspirational writings, quotes.
And I'll do my part. I promise, it'll be funny.
Now, I've got to see if this thing really worked. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to computers but if Carri can sit in a chemo chair for ten hour days, I can hen-peck my way through this mysterious world of blogging.
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