coping with cloudy skies

We have been struggling with temper tantrums around here lately.

When my spouse and I turned to the Internets for advice, we came up with some wildly different, even contradictory advice:

1. We need to institute a "systematic behavior management plan" that includes time-outs. The time out should not start until he is seated and quiet.

If I could get him to be seated and quiet, I wouldn't need a time out.

2. We need to investigate his diet and exposure to allergens. Also, hugs are more effective than time outs:

"Until you find one that works, however, hold your son gently when he falls apart and talk to him softly in a singsong."

When my son is having a tantrum, I can't really get my arms around him and the screaming tends to drown out my gentle crooning.

3. Call the cops and have the kid arrested.

This is what one Florida school did:

"To subdue the unruly kindergartner, school officials phoned Avon Park's police department ("committed to enhancing the 'Quality of Life' of the community"). When the cops arrived, young Desre'e attempted to resist arrest by crawling under a table. But Avon Park's finest pulled her out, cuffed her, put her in a police cruiser, drove her to the county jail, and charged this 50-pound menace with a felony and two misdemeanors."

I think I'll call the doctor, make sure he never gets too hungry, talk to his teachers (they assure me that the tantrums are not occurring at school or day care), reinforce good behaviour and keep hoping that it's just a phase...

Thoughts?

it's come to this

This is now a 'cute kids and animals' blog.

I have a very good friend in town for a couple of days. We are hanging out.

Regular programming will no doubt resume post-visit.

feeling nostalgic already

This was taken just a few weeks ago. The leaves are mostly gone now and winter is in the air.

writing

This was actually taken on chemo day but it kind of sums up what I feel like doing. Note the bed, the book and the laptop. The only thing missing is a great big chocolate bar.

And yes, that is the world's meanest cat, all cuddled up with me. Don't be fooled by appearances. One false move and he'd slit my throat.

I've actually been doing some non-blog writing today, so not much left over for this space. Please bear with me. There will be a more substantial post one these days, I promise.

lest we forget (part two)

My spouse and my ten year old son are reading Maus together right now. So, so hard.

I am glad S. wants to learn this but so sad he has to learn how cruel people can be.

S.: "So they were just allowed to shoot Jews for fun?"

T.: "Jews were not considered human."

S.: "They were treated like vermin."

S. and T. together: "Like mice."

T.: "Not all the Germans felt this way but when your government and all the news and your neighbours are all telling you one thing...People get swept up."

So hard.

not missing a day

what he said

"I think we are asking the questions that will get us funded, not the questions that that will solve the problem."

- Lovell A. Jones, PhD, MD Anderson Cancer Center

(This was part of the closing key note to News You Can Use, organized by Living Beyond Breast Cancer. The conference was excellent but this last session, entitled "Helping Promote A More Equal Approach to Health Care", just blew me away.)

the man in the boy

I see the future.

photo: G. Nera

And it scares me.

Hallowe'en 2008. Wolverine (think Hugh Jackman in the first X-Men movie).

very reassuring

Me (after a harrowing conversation among a group of my friends) to my dear spouse: "Are you leading a double life?"

Long-suffering spouse (who has been single-parenting lots of late): "Are you kidding? My first life is out of control. Why would I want a second one?"

Good enough for me.

lest we forget

Photo: Chameleon for Wikipedia. (Wikipedia Commons).

To remember is to end all war.

happy birthday to dear dd

I love you very much and I hope you are having a wonderful day.

I love that are fiercely loyal and love with great ferocity.

I love that you are kind, compassionate and caring and yet you really know how to hold a grudge.

I love that you give so much of yourself to others.

And I worry that you don't always ask when you need something in return.

I love that you offered to come to chemo with me today.

But I am glad that I was able to say 'no.'

Thank you so much for being my friend. I am so lucky to have you in my life.

by popular request...

Photos of the puppy. Or as the vet calls her, my "hairy little monster."

It is very difficult to get a good photo of a black dog. However, I discovered that a good camera can really make a difference.

Seriously in need of a grooming.

I was holding a treat in the air. I really love this camera.

She has a really long tongue.

J-Dog was unimpressed.

I spent the last couple of hours trying to come up with a post for NaBloPoMo. I also needed to re-take some photos for the book. Instead, I took photos of my dogs and turned them into a post.

Although, now I just want to photograph everything I own with this camera.

Too bad I have chemo tomorrow. Although maybe I'll take photos of that, too.

last days of the alaska beauty queen

Photo: M. Slavitch.

October 31st, 2008. I was in Philadelphia when this was taken but I am told that the effect in person was even more spectacular.

By the way, those are my shoes. They fit S. perfectly. He spent the evening before Hallowe'en walking around the house in heels, with his hand on his hip, saying "You betcha!" It got to me every time.

S. says he didn't mind the shoes or the pantyhose. He did, however, find the fake boobs really uncomfortable.

I hear him on that one.

procrastination pays off

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you may remember this blanket. Some of you occasionally ask me about it.

I have never sown it together. All 120 pieces still sit in a big basket in my bedroom. Sometimes, I refer to it as my 120 potholders.

This blanket, however, has recently served to teach me a valuable lesson.

Last week end, I was fortunate to spend some time with my friends Jacqueline and John in Philadelphia (they came all the way from New York to hang out with me). During our visit, we talked a bit about my book. I told them that I was feeling lukewarm about the cover design (we were considering stepping stones. I loved the idea we were trying to convey of an unfinished journey but was finding the image a bit new agey). Both of my friends gave it the thumbs down.

I asked if they had any other ideas and Jacqueline asked if I had an image that was more personal, that meant something to me (and to which I owned the rights) that I could use.

I was doubtful.

That night, after we went back to our respective hotel rooms, Jacqueline went into my Flickr images and came up with an amazing concept:

"i love the metaphors for:
blankets
and
knitting.
the optical illusions of the patterns
the imperfections
the coming together
and
the
possibility of
unraveling.
the warmth
and comfort.
the perspective of the image implies a path but the image is more personal and ALL YOURS."

She had made three different mock-ups from the photo above that included my title and name.

I love it!

My editor loves it.

The design/marketing team love it.

There was only one problem. The photo isn't high resolution enough to use, so I have to re-take some pics this week end.

The moral of this story? Never put off until tomorrow what you can put off for a whole year.

book review: "the retreat"*

Reading The Retreat by David Bergen was good for me, in the way experiences that provoke and make you uncomfortable can be good for you.

But it was hard going.

Even at the outset, the reader is aware that the story will end in tragedy (and not just because it says so on the dust jacket). From the very first page, the sense of foreboding is almost oppressive. And on several occasions, I had to put it down and take a few deep breaths, so intense was my discomfort.

From the book's jacket:

In 1973, outside of Kenora, Ontario, Raymond Seymour, an eighteen-year-old Ojibway boy, is taken by a local policeman to a remote island and left for dead.

A year later, the Byrd family arrives in Kenora. They have come to stay at “the Retreat,” a commune run by the self-styled guru Doctor Amos. The Doctor is an enigmatic man who spouts bewildering truisms, and who bathes naked every morning in the pond at the edge of the Retreat while young Everett Byrd watches from the bushes. Lizzy, the eldest of the Byrd children, cares for her younger brothers Fish and William, and longs for what she cannot find at the Retreat. When Lizzy meets Raymond, everything changes, and Lizzy comes to understand the real difference between Raymond’s world and her own. A tragedy and a love story, the novel moves towards a conclusion that is both astonishing and heartbreaking.

Set during the summer of the Ojibway occupation of Anicinabe Park in Kenora, The Retreat is a finely nuanced, deeply felt novel that tells the story of the complicated love between a white girl and a native boy, and of a family on the verge of splintering forever. It is also a story of the bond between two brothers who were separated in childhood, and whose lives and fates intertwine ten years later.

The book is beautifully written, filled with complex, believable, interesting and unhappy characters. Woven throughout are the twin themes of betrayal and existence (there are multiple references to the way other characters treat Raymond as though he is invisible and his own need to "verify his own existence."

I most affected by the scenes involving Raymond and I found myself becoming almost frantic as I read about his attempts at survival after being abandoned on the island, as the snow begins to fall:

"He scraped together some moss and laid it down in the hole, and then he curled up in the shallow dip and covered himself up with more moss. He was shaking severely. He pressed his hands between his thighs and blew warm breath down the inside of his jacket...In the grey light he finally started a fire...he warmed his hands and feet and bent towards the flames like a requester who sees the possibility of salvation but is too abject too cry out."

I found Bergen's description here to be quite vivid and made all the more poignant by the fact that Canada has a shameful history of this sort of occurrence and that more than one such instance has ended in tragedy.

I can't say that I enjoyed The Retreat. It did however, move me profoundly. I will remember it longer than many books I have enjoyed and read with much more ease.

*This is book was sent to me via Library Thing's Early Reviewer Program.

it is what it is (and it's all so individual)

Every so often, someone will tell me they feel bad talking to me about their own cancer experiences because they have had an easier time than I have (because they didn't have a mastectomy, they didn't get sick from chemo, they sailed through radiation or they don't have mets).

I always tell them that cancer is scary and traumatic now matter how you experience it.

And besides, it wouldn't make things easier for me if someone else were sicker.

Last night, I was at a beautiful event, celebrating the career of Deborah Bourque, the former President of the Canadian Union of Postal Workers (this is not a non-sequitur. Please bear with me). It was also an opportunity for women working in the labour movement to get together, celebrate our own achievements and commiserate on the challenges we face as women members, staff and leaders of unions (we also ate great food, had a few drinks and shared some laughs).

It was a bittersweet event for me. I saw many wonderful women I hadn't connected with in a great long while. I loved that part. But it's hard to be reminded that I am not really part of that milieu any more. Those day to day struggles are no longer mine.

I don't miss the stress but I do miss the adrenaline.

I don't miss the bureaucracy but I do miss the work.

I don't miss the workplace politics but I do miss the collaboration.

I don't miss the frustration but I do miss the joy that comes with success.

It is easier now not to feel this loss so acutely. There are so many good things about my life. Now that the book is finished, I feel that I have an accomplishment that I can talk about. And now that I have begun to think of myself as a writer, I don't feel the loss of identity as a union activist so acutely.

This brings me back to the original point of this post.

I was out for a walk with the dogs today (it's beautiful and unseasonably warm in Ottawa) and feeling a little bit sad. And then I felt guilty because there are so many women who are forced to work through cancer treatment and pay a tremendous physical price (others work find it helpful to work, which is a different thing), who don't have health insurance, drug coverage, a supportive spouse, or a roof over their heads. I felt guilty that I should be feeling sad when I am healthy enough to play with my kids, go out with my friends and walk my dogs on a beautiful day.

But I was reminded at the conference this past week end that cancer is a very personal thing, in it's manifestations and in how it is experienced.

We gain nothing in judging ourselves or each other.

And we gain nothing when we deny our sadness, anger or joy.

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

and other things, too

From Slate's Daily Dose of Doonesbury (click on image to enlarge)

unrelated thoughts*

My weekend was very inspiring. But although I did take good care of myself, I am exhausted (a combination of all the activity and the lateness of my arrival last night). Coherence eludes me, so here is some random content from my brain:

First stray thought:

We have lost our digital camera. I'm pretty sure it must be somewhere in our tip of a house but its disappearance means that not only did I not have a camera on my trip but we couldn't take any pictures on Hallowe'en! We are relying on the kindness of friends to transmit, so I can share.

If I had a camera, I could also embarrass myself by posting photos of my ill-groomed, excessively hairy dog.

Second stray thought:

One of the speakers at the conference addressed the inequities in the American health care system. He mentioned that social workers, who help patients navigate the system, are always the first to get cut when cutbacks occur.

Cancer care is extremely complicated (so many ways of treating and so many different health care professionals and staff to deal with). As a cancer patient, I have to advocate for myself on a regular basis at every stage of care (I was reminded of this today, as I followed up on the fact that I haven't received confirmation of my next chemo appointment. Turns out it was never booked and now I have to chase down my oncologist to make sure that happens). I am educated, middle class and pretty enfranchised. I can't imagine how challenging treatment would be if I were unable to understand the system, communicate my needs or were affected by a mental illness.

Third stray thought:

Homeland security left a little note in my bag to tell me they had opened it and rifled through my underwear (OK so that's not exactly what they said I did but that's the part that gives me the creeps). This has never happened to me before.

The Yarn Harlot has written that it happens to her on almost every trip. This makes me wonder if the search was provoked by knitting needles.

I usually bring only one project and carry it in my purse. I knew I was going to have some down time on Friday, I had a big suitcase that was only half-full and I couldn't make up my mind, so I packed a second project in my suitcase (socks, with lots of little pointy needles).

Fourth stray thought:

The cliche about absence making the heart grow fonder must be true. My littlest, with whom I have been locking horns of late, was extremely happy to see me. He crawled into my bed this morning with a very satisfied, "Mama!" and told me that he had missed me "very, very much."

That's it. Even my stray thoughts have escaped me...

...except to say that I feel so incredibly fortunate that Jacqueline and John came to visit me (and Jacqueline came up with a brilliant idea for the cover of my book!). This is only the second week end I have spent with them and yet I felt as comfortable as I do with old friends. And they are such smart, creative people. They really do inspire me.

* this post brought to you courtesy of NaBloPoMo.

relieved

I dreamed that I said the following to my spouse:

"I don't regret the dogs. I sometimes regret the cat. But I really, really regret the rhino."

a post is a post

Happy November!

I stole this badge from Sara.

I will be attending my conference all day today and I may have something interesting to say once its over.

I'm hoping to hang out with Jacqueline and her husband John this evening (and tomorrow, too), though, so it make take me a couple of days to post anything substantive.

I just counted. I've brought three of Jacqueline's garments with me, one of her pieces of jewelry and her Songbird Scarf. And I have more at home, too.

stranger in a strange land

It's 2:30 in the afternoon and I am sitting in my hotel room, having just eating cold soggy french fries and what I am sure was a hopelessly inauthentic Philly cheese steak from room service (at $14.00 before taxes, surcharge and tip, it was the cheapest thing on the menu and came without the promised fried onions).

The sound of my typing is being drowned out by yelling and the relentless cacophony of sirens on the street below, despite the fact that I am on one of the top floors of what was reportedly Philadelphia's first skyscraper.

I am having a weird day.

My departure for Philadelphia this morning was a bit fraught, the usual clutter and chaos being compounded by last minute additions to the Hallowe'en costumes (D. is going as Wolverine and S. went to school as a hippie and will be dressing up as Sarah Palin - not my idea - this evening. Last night, he was hobbling around the house with one hand on his hip, chirping "You betcha!"). I spent a good twenty minutes looking for the theatrical makeup (for Wolverine's facial hair and a peace symbol for the hippie), only to find it in the very first place I had looked, buried under a pile of rubble.

I managed to get out the door only slightly later than planned and, after 15 minutes of desperate waving, finally snagged a cab.

I sailed through airport check-in (did you know that there is a charge for every piece of luggage now?) and security and got into the line for US Immigration. I always get really nervous when I have to go through Customs or Immigration (doesn't matter which direction), even though I never try to smuggle or hide anything. When the only female worker waved me over for my turn, I was pleased, convinced that she would be more likely to be sympathetic to the purpose of my trip.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Agent: "What is the purpose of your trip to Philadelphia?"

Me: "I'm going to a conference."

Agent: "What kind of conference?"

Me: "Breast cancer..."

Agent: "What's your job?"

Me: "I am a researcher with a union."

Agent: "Then why are you going to this conference?"

Me: "I'm a survivor."

That's when it started to fall apart. I babbled (I do this when I am nervous) something about it being organized by Living Beyond Breast Cancer and that it was called, "News You Can Use."

And then I told her that I was on disability (I am quite sure that I meant to say something else).

Agent: "How long have you been on disability?"

Me: "Ummm...since I was diagnosed...April 2006." (this is inaccurate but I was really flailing at this point).

Then I pulled myself together and said, clearly and forcefully: "But I have a good job to go back to and my insurance company pays x percent of my wage."

Agent: "OK."

Wow. I don't know if I've managed to convey her hostility but she really was very hostile.

I was shaking a little bit afterwards.

On the flight, I sat beside M., a very nice engineer from Alabama. We talked the whole way about Canadian winters (he had spent a winter in Ontario and enjoyed it), kids, blended families, the book I'm reading (Guantanamo's Child by Michelle Shephard) and life in general. I even took a stab at explaining what it means to live in a Constitutional Monarchy and the Canadian and provinicial electoral systems.

M., an employee of the US military, expressed his frustration that, in his opinion, dissent has come to be equated with a lack of patriotism in his country (he also said that the only part of the constitution with which he didn't agree was the right to bear arms).

He also said that he's hopeful that Obama will be elected and that he will bring about real and positive change ("these things don't happen overnight"), if he can build bridges and start work on some concrete projects (he used "energy independence" as an example).

I don't usually chat on planes but M. was a very cool seat mate and the 90 minute trip passed quickly (despite the fact that we weren't offered so much as a glass of water).

At the Philadelphi airport, I grabbed my bag and made my way to the taxi stand. When I announced my destination, the driver said, "I don't know if I can get you all the way there because of the parade."

The World Series parade! In the middle of the day! On Hallowe'en!

It wasn't long before we came apon the diverse (in every way imaginable), festive and very boisterous crowds.

We drove until we literally could go no further. I relinquished my cab to an incredibly happy young couple.

"Do you have to work today?" I was asked sympathetically.

I replied, "I just got here, I'm from Canada!"

"Wow!!!"

I wish sports could make me that happy.

I watched people dancing and singing, cheering and drinking. I saw strangers hug each other as they passed on the street and I saw a couple of gratuitous acts of vandalism.

Walking agains the flow of human traffic, I bravely made my way to the hotel (there were four large security guys standing outside, each with their eyes as wide as dinner plates) and checked in. I immediately went out again for wine and food. I secured the wine but quickly deduced that the only way I was going to eat was if I ordered room service (every restaurant within miles was packed or closed).

And now I find myself, a few hours later (I interrupted this post for a nap and a shower), typing in my pajamas, with a glass of wine by my side. I am starting to feel hungry again but don't really feel like venturing out again.

I don't feel like facing the last of the revelers. Or the sirens.

And I really don't feel like getting dressed.

Maybe I still have some trail mix in my bag.

You'll be hearing a lot from me this month. NaBloPoMo starts tomorrow (which is why my laptop is with me and the reason I am paying $10.95/day for internet. It's not because I'm addicted. Really).

book review: "hell bent"*

I like fast-paced mystery novels that grab my attention from the first page and sustain my interest until the end.

I like books that are well written and that entertain without offending me and that use characters to move a story forward without resorting to stereotype.

And I like suspense novels that surprise me without stretching the bounds of credulity to their absolute limit (there is only so much disbelief I am capable of suspending).

On all of these fronts, Hell Bent, by William G. Taply delivers.

"Boston attorney Brady Coyne finds his own past coming back to haunt his professional life when his ex-girlfriend Alex Sinclair wants him to represent her brother. Augustine Sinclair was a notable photo-journalist, happily married with two small children - until he returned from a stint in Iraq, missing a hand and suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Now he's lost his career, his peace of mind and his family. Brady is hired to see him through the divorce but before they get very far, the photographer is found dead in his rented apartment, an apparent suicide.

But something isn't right and Brady starts to think the suicide is staged. With very little to go on and everyone around him wanting to close the books on the case, Brady soon finds himself in the midst of one of the most dangerous situations of his entire life, facing people who will do anything to avoid being exposed."

As a mystery novel, Hell Bent was highly entertaining, a real page turner that kept my interest. It's well written, with interesting characters and unexpected plot twists.

As a central character, though, Brady Coyne is just too perfect. He prefers to represent underdogs, is pining faithfully for the long-term girlfriend who left him four months earlier (despite the fact that she won't let him call her and leaves him messages telling him to move on) and has a stated weakness for strong, smart women:

"I liked feisty, independent, competent, autonomous, self-contained women. I liked women who knew what they wanted and went after it. I liked women who thought they were at least as important and capable and valuable as men."

Women all seem to be vulnerable to his charms (every woman in the book is described in considerable physical detail and they almost all seem to be beautiful) and men want to be his friend.

He is also modest, self-deprecating and fairly self-critical.

And he is very loyal and attached to his dog, Henry.

Brady Coyne is just too good to be true.

I like flawed characters. I like protagonists who screw up but are essentially well-meaning and good hearted.

This is especially true for mysteries which have an inherent element of good versus evil. When good is too good, it can get just a touch, well, boring.

But really, that's just a quibble (and this one that is leagues better than the mystery novels with a hard boiled detective and the inevitable blond, bosomy bimbo who is the secretary/victim/murderess).

I liked Hell Bent. And if you like well-written, fast-paced mysteries, with progressive politics and interesting characters, you will too.

*This is a review of a book that was sent to me via Library Thing's Early Reviewer Program.

heartbreaking

Beautiful Jen, from the Comfy Place, wrote a post that really got to me today.

"Last night came thoughts about how dying of cancer is in some ways a kinder way to leave those you love behind. It gives those we love time to come to terms with our demise well before it happens. I have even had my Mum remark that she feels she has been grieving whilst I am still alive. One of my close friends has said the same thing, in a sense. She says she has grieved already, she knows it will continue in fits and starts and she is sure that when I do finally pass she will grieve again but I have noticed how people seem to come to terms with their loss whilst the person with the illness is still alive and with them. I believe this is because they can think about it, as horrid as it is to think about the world without that particular person in it, they can think about it while safely knowing that the person is within touching distance or a phone call away. Then it came to me how children may not get this option of slowly grieving whilst the person they love is still alive. I think because we tend to protect them and want to shelter them from anything painful but I believe in cases like this, we are making it harder on them when the person does actually pass."

Jen needs to have a talk with her sons, one that I have often thought about. She is brave and strong and thoughtful and loves her boys passionately.

There was a time, not that long ago that I thought a similar conversation with my own boys was imminent. Jen's honesty is inspiring and I will think of her when my time comes.

But I grieve for her tonight.

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

my big little man

D. in 2003

D. in 2008

and the gold star goes to...

Mother to 10 year old son: How did you get to be such a good kid?

Son: Good parenting?

random fall friday

1. It was lovely enough to sit outside for a while today. The air was crisp and the birds were very, very loud. I had to come in for a phone appointment and meant to go out again but got swept up in other things.

2. We have a couple of good friends staying with us for a few days. We sat around at the dining room table this morning and I realized that the last time we had done that was when I had my head shaved in March 2006. Doesn't feel that long ago.

3. I am listening to an audio book and really enjoying it. It's The Ethical Assassin by David Liss. I am thinking of becoming his groupie.

4. The puppy (I need to take more photos of her, she is much bigger and hairier now) was spayed yesterday. She is feeling a little low, poor thing but I admit that I have enjoyed the quiet.

5. A few friends and I have formed a writing group. We are meeting one evening every month and I am very excited about it.

6. I have not had a major project on the go since finishing the book and I need one.

book review: "belly of the whale"

I try to only review things on my blog that I would recommend to others. When I don't enjoy a book that I have been asked to review, I usually keep the review over at Library Thing or don't review it at all.

I don't go out of my way to trash someone else's hard work.

Most of the time, if I write about it, I like it.

However, Belly of the Whale by Linda Merlino is an exception.

This novel, a thriller, is about Hudson Catalina, a 38 year old mother to three kids with breast cancer, is badly written, heavy handed and manipulative from beginning to end.

Hudson Catalina has given up. Having lost both breasts to cancer, she is emotionally and physically exhausted, no longer willing to endure the nausea and crushing weakness that chemotherapy causes. Until the wrecked-by-life young Buddy Baker arrives, bent on murder. Linda Merlino’s harrowing, touching story of despair, abuse, murder and survival takes you on a journey through the darkest places of the human mind and spirit, and in the end leads you back out of “the belly of the whale” enriched by the experience.

The cover art is garish and features a bald woman, cringing, as a tear rolls down her cheek. ( Also she has stubble. Honestly, if they couldn't find a woman who had really lost her hair to cancer, instead of a model with her head shaved, then they really shouldn't have bothered). I know that you aren't supposed to judge a book by its cover but in this case, the cover told me almost everything about the book that I needed to know.



As a novel, this book is not just bad but jaw-droppingly bad. I had a list of examples of terrible writing and factual inaccuracies (I have post-its with exclamation marks on every other page) but I will spare you the lengthy list. The narrative is overwrought and repetitive. The dialogue is terrible and the characters speak in stereotypes.

Several of the women who write for Mothers With Cancer were asked to read and review this book as part breast cancer awareness month. I don't think very many of us liked it. And I don't think this book does anything to raise awareness about the real experience of breast cancer.

I agreed to review it because I was told that the author is a breast cancer survivor (although it doesn't say this anywhere on her web site, in the book or on its jacket) and because I do like to do book reviews. And there have been many, many books with breast cancer as a central theme that I have liked (The Middle Place is a good example).

I was worried that I was being to hard on the book because I live with breast cancer and I could not identify with this character (despite the similarity in our ages).

But bad writing is bad writing.

And exploitation is exploitation.

Do not read this book if you, or someone you love, is going through treatment.

Do not read this book if you like good writing.

And I for one, plan to think twice before I crack the spine of another book from Kunati Press.

deconstruction not required

I have been dreaming about houses again (you can read previous posts on this subject here and here).

In this latest dream, I am in the middle of moving. It's not my choice to move and I didn't choose the new house. I like my old house and my old neighbourhood and I feel quite sad to leave them behind.

The new house is not filthy or scary or rundown, just unfamiliar and not what I have chosen for myself.

In the dream, I am trying to make the best of it, figure out how to set up this new home so that I feel safe, comfortable and happy.

I think I'm feeling a bit at loose ends this days.

way too cool

book review: "the whiskey rebels"*

The Whiskey Rebels by David Liss is a big book and yet I practically read it in one sitting, allowing only the responsibilities of parenting to intervene.

Set in the late 1700s, the book is a piece of meticulously researched historical fiction (at times perhaps a little too meticulously, in terms of detail, but that is my only criticism and it's nit-picking, really). I learned a lot about American history leading up to the Whiskey Rebellion (and the presidency of Thomas Jefferson). I also found myself devouring the details of the early US banking system (truly!).

But it was the plot and characters of the book (along with beautiful writing) that hooked me from the very first page.

The story moves back and forth between two principal (and fictional) characters, Ethan Saunders (a disgraced soldier) and Joan Maycott (a woman who sets out with her husband to settle on the Pennsylvania frontier and becomes a whiskey maker). Both characters are flawed yet intensely compelling. And I fell in love with each of them, as the story moves them towards conflict with each other.

The narrative moves smoothly between perspectives and the author speaks convincingly in the voice of each character It's not easy to write in the voice of someone who is very different from ourselves, yet even Joan Maycott is a believable character whose behaviour and dialogue rings true.

I had never read anything by David Liss before the Whiskey Rebels, but I have since ordered every other book he has written from the library.

Absolutely one of my favourites this year.

*This is a review of a book that was sent to me via Library Thing's Early Reviewer Program.

seven more things

I've been tagged.

By Mom2Amara, who I tagged for this same meme last year.

Here are the rules:

1. Post the rules on your blog.


2. Write 7 random things about yourself.


3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post.
   


4. Pass on the tag.

I am not sure if there are actually seven things I have not already shared on this blog but, as this seems like a good subject for a post-chemo Friday, I will give it a shot.

1. I love the way my dogs smell. I stick my face in their fur sometimes and inhale.

2. I am afraid of heights.

3. My greatest insecurity is that the people I love will stop loving me.

4. Laughter is very important to me. I credit my mom for my goofy sense of humour.

5. I have been to every Canadian province and territory except Saskatchewan and Nunavut.

6. My first two bikes were red. I loved them very much. Both were surprises from my parents, although I got to choose the second one. The first one had a banana seat. The second was my first bike with gears and hand brakes.

7. In December, it will be three years since I found the lump that turned out to be cancer. Some days, this fact still surprises me.

I tag Lene, the Maven, Rebecca, Dee, Babz, nonlineargirl and deb (who I am not linking to because I am not sure how public she wants her blog to be but I want her to do the seven things anyway).

fall is the prettiest season

The weather here has been absolutely gorgeous and unseasonably warm for the last couple of weeks.

And I am convinced that, in the fall, I live in the most beautiful place in the world. This past week end at the cottage, the fall colours were an unbelievable riot of reds and oranges and yellows. There was a carpet on the ground and yet the trees were still brilliant.

The nights were cool (great for sleeping) but it was warm enough in the day that some of us wore shorts and none of us wore jackets.

And the food...Oh my, did we feast.

As we drove away, I looked at the spectacular view and thought, "It's so gorgeous, it looks like a badly done oil painting."

And it occurred to me that we had not taken a single photo all week end.

Sigh.

At least we have the memories.

It took us seven hours to get home. But it was worth it.

The suitcase still sits unpacked by the back door. I had chemo the day after we got home (and Tim has had his hands full with the boys).

I'll deal with it on Saturday.

giving thanks

We are off to the family cottage in Northern Ontario for the Thanksgiving week end.

Want to imagine what it will be like?

Put together these people

and these people


Make them a whole lot grubbier, add three dogs (two of them long-haired sibling wild puppies).

Put them in a three bedroom cottage in the woods, on a lake.

It will be chaos but it will be fun.

I have chemo the day after I get back, so my next post won't be until next Wednesday, at the earliest.

Happy Thanksgiving!

lost

Reading Lene's post on dreams yesterday got me thinking about a post I wrote on that subject last March.

And then last night I had a panicky dream that I was lost in a hotel (hotels and houses seem to be key themes for me). First, I could not find my friends' room and then I could not return to my own. I could not remember my room number. Halls led to nowhere or to places that were completely illogical (like an ice rink). Calls on hotel phones went unanswered, were connected to people far away from the hotel, or produced directions that made no sense (or that I could not remember. These are key fears of mine as a chemo patient - forgetting things or not being able to understand them).

At one point, I was trying to open a door and it turned into a folding wall. For a few moments, I was trapped.

The last thing I remember, was finding the front desk. A woman was giving me directions when my younger son woke me up. Perhaps my dream was about to resolve itself.

I have not been able to fight the lingering feeling of anxiety this morning.

I did have an appointment with the doctor who works with my oncologist yesterday. It was a reassuring appointment, though, as she repeated again that my CT results showed no change from the previous five.

Perhaps I am feeling a little lost now that the book is finished.

The first two weeks after I was done, I felt relief and a sense of freedom.

And taking a break from MyBreastCancerNetwork.Com is definitely the right thing for me right now.

But I think I might be suffering from a case of "what's next?"

I am someone who once really defined herself by work and I have really struggled with the shift in identity that came with being a cancer patient (I feel great most of the time but I am in bed for the days after treatment. My oncologist does not want me to work and I am fortunate to have disability insurance).

One of my goals for myself for this year was to begin to think of myself as a "Writer." In order to do that, I need to keep writing.

I am excited at that prospect.

But I think I am a little scared, too.

book review: the lemur*

In my opinion, there are three components to every good book – great writing, an interesting plot and good, strong characters. While a bit unbalanced in this regard, The Lemur (by Benjamin Black) does deliver in all three areas.

The story captured my attention with the opening line ("The researcher was a very tall, very thin young man with a head too small for his frame and an Adam's apple the size of a golf ball.") and held it, to the last page of this short (132 pages) novel.

The researcher mentioned above has been hired by John Glass, the book's narrator and protagonist. Glass, a former journalist, has been commissioned to write a biography of "communications magnate and former CIA agent, Bill Mulholland. The task would be a daunting one for any writer but it is particularly fraught. Glass is married to Mulholland's daughter. And the book has been commissioned by Mulholland himself.

Shortly after that initial meeting, the researcher (the titular "Lemur", so nicknamed by Glass for his resemblance to the primates from Madagascar) is murdered. Glass suspects that this death is linked to the research for the book, in which case there are a whole host of suspects (Mulholland, the CIA, Glass's own wife and even Glass himself).

The murderer reveals her/himself in due course but what really kept me reading was the quality of the writing.

Glass describing his wife:

"Her gaze was as blank as the face of her son's expensive watch, with a myriad unseen, infinitely intricate movements going on behind it."

To me that says heaps about the strained relationship between husband and wife (and is expressed in a way that is much more elegant that I seem to be capable of at the moment).

And on being questioned by the police after the murder:

"It seemed to him that everything in the headachey, noise-assaulted, vertiginous six months he had lived in New York had been leading to just this moment, when he would be sitting here in this policeman's office, dry mouthed and faintly nauseous, with a tingle in his backbone and his veins fizzing. What was happening was at once ordinary and outlandish, inevitable and contingent, as in a dream."

The numerous characters are all vividly described but none has any depth. That they all seem like caricatures is my one small criticism. I am not sure if this was intentional on the part of the author, or a necessary characteristic of such a short book.

Regardless, I did enjoy The Lemur and I would recommend as a quick, entertaining read for those who like mysteries and for people who just enjoy good writing.

Benjamin Black is a pseudonym for writer John Banville and the book was first serialized in the New York Times Magazine, which may explain its brevity.

*This is a review of a book that was sent to me via Library Thing's Early Reviewer Program.

the unanswerables

Life as a parent is full of Big Questions. Here are some of the ones I have been pondering lately:


Why is it so quiet? What are they up to?


Why is he being so polite? What does he want?


Is he cuddling or is he wiping his nose on my shirt?

i am a mass of contradictions

(photo: A. Kaplan-Myrth)

I ran the Run for the Cure for the first time today.

Given that its a fundraiser for the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation I had some trepidations (check out all the pink crap on their site).

But I have been running with my10 year old son for a few months now and we were ready for our first 5km run.

And I liked that this event was non-competitive.

And CBCN did provide a significant chunk of the funding for the National Conference for Young Women Living With Breast Cancer that I attended last year.

So I signed up (but I didn't raise funds. I prefer to donate directly to my local cancer centre or to groups like Breast Cancer Action).

And I loved it.

It was a beautiful day. The atmosphere was one of tremendous goodwill. I felt good.

And I have to admit, that I got a lump in my throat when I went to the "Survivor's Tent" to collect my pink t-shirt, the one that would mark me as someone who had fought a battle with breast cancer and lived to run with my kid.

I was very touched when I was running along and a group of women yelled, "Go Pink!" as I passed them.

I loved hanging out with my son as we waited to start. I loved singing silly songs as we jumped around to warm up. And I loved holding his hand as we crossed the finish line.

I had planned on running for twenty minutes (the most we have done in our training) and then seeing how my body responded. I had hoped to run a little more than that, walk the rest and finish in under an hour.

We ran the whole thing (almost. We followed the Running Room program of - 10 minutes of running followed by 1 minute of walking - lather, rinse and repeat). A total of thirty-nine minutes from start to finish.

I finished with a huge grin on my face that lasted the whole day.

I am as proud of this run as I was of my half-marathon in 2000 (and I was as sore, tired and hungry afterwards. Bacon and eggs for lunch, pizza for dinner and lots of snacking in between).

Among the crowds waiting to start, there were many people with the names of loved ones on their shirts and the words "I'm running for..."

My son turned to me and said, "Mama, I'm running for you."

I'm so proud of both of us.

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

dvd review: "visions for cancer recovery"

I was asked to review this DVD "written and narrated by Mary Hallman, who researched and and developed this program based on her experiences during her recovery for fallopian tube cancer." She is also a registered nurse.

The full title of the DVD is "Visions for Cancer Recovery: A Guided Visualization and Health Meditation." It's 20 minutes long and divided into four sections: "Introduction", "Begin Body Relaxation", "Stress Release/Deeper Relaxation" and "Healing On A Deeper Level: Cancer Cell Elimination."

The DVD uses "scientifically rendered scientific imagery." I also learned a new word, "apoptosis." It's the scientific term for "cancer cell elimination." Cool, no?

What I liked about it:

• The music chosen as an introduction was appropriate and set a relaxing tone from the beginning.
  

• There was a disclaimer at the beginning of the DVD cautioning that the program is to be used in conjunction with, not instead of, more conventional cancer treatment. I very much appreciated this.

• The voice-over (by Mary Hallman) was very relaxing and reassuring.

• As I watched, I was taken from very familiar (and soothing) scenes of nature, all the way into space. We then returned from space, to think about the cells working within our bodies. I liked placing myself in context this way and enjoyed that imagery.

• I enjoyed imagining imagining any cancer cells in my body being absorbed and eradicated by the healthier ones.

• The messages repeated at the end were ones that really did speak to me and that I could see myself repeating throughout the day: "Cancer cells are not surviving...Only healthy cells survive....the body does what it needs to do."

What I didn't like:

• I couldn't get into watching a guided meditation on my television or computer screen. When I relax, I like to close my eyes. Just as I would find myself getting into the program, the voice would remind me to "keep your eyes on the screen." It just didn't work for me.

• I didn't find the visual imagery used to be very effective. The nature images were pretty but I would have enjoyed imagining my own relaxing locations much better. The other images didn't work for me at all (and there was an image of a coil that I actually found weirded me out).

The production values on the DVD seemed to me to be quite high. And it was obvious to me that the person who developed it was knowledgeable and thoughtful. Perhaps this DVD would be more useful for those who are having trouble conjuring up relaxing imagery or imagining what cancer cells look like. Or maybe some will find it soothing to have the visuals provided for them. I think, though, that I prefer audiotapes.

Or my own imagination.

shifting prioirities

I have a new post up at MyBreastCancerNetwork.Com. It will also be my last for a while:

I am very grateful for the opportunities I have had here at MyBreastCancerNetwork.Com to further extend my reach, to share my stories and reassure so many women that a diagnosis of metastasis is not without hope. For so many of us, metastatic breast cancer is treated like a chronic illness, one that must be managed but through which we can live active, healthy lives.

However, as I have written before, when metastatic breast cancer is well managed, the stories one tells can start to be repetitive and even boring (Another clean scan! No new signs of cancer! Today, I felt like a normal person!). And while I vigorously embrace the lack of drama in this part of my life, I also find myself lacking in inspiration.

As I have said often to friends in the last few weeks, blogging about my life with metastasis means to be constantly tapping the same vein. I am feeling a bit drained (I also just finished the final edits on my book, “I’m Not Done Yet,” which is being published by Women’s Press and due out in the spring of 2009, and that has no doubt contributed to my ‘cancer fatigue’).

It’s time to spend more time writing about other parts of my life (my blog is called Not Just About Cancer for a reason) and even to play at making stuff up, along with other creative pursuits. I have a puppy that needs training. And I need to spend more time on the activities that nurture my body, as well as my mind.

After I wrote this post, I had my spouse proof read it (he proofs almost everything I write before it goes online). He said that it was fine. Except that I mention the puppy and not my spouse or kids.

He said (while laughing at me), "It's like saying, 'I'm retiring to spend more time with my dog.'

I chose not to change that line. In my defense, I have have not been neglecting the needs of my family to write for MyBreastCancerNetwork.Com. I did, however, have to remove the puppy from the dining room table, as I wrote yesterday's post. I clearly need to invest more time in training.

You can read the rest of my "goodbye for now" post here.



An example of the 'other creative pursuits' in which I wish to engage. Taken at the a family Bar Mitzvah this past week end (photo: A. Wayne).

Cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer.

happy october

October, as you most certainly know, is breast cancer awareness month.

You won't find any pink ribbons here.

Instead, I give you links to my previous posts on this subject:

not in my name (October 2007)

not enough to think pink (October 2006)

And, if you want to read more, please check out Parade of Pink: Why BCA Is Concerned By Cause-Marketing For Breast Cancer. Breast Cancer Action also includes a list of "six critical questions" to ask before buying pink ribbon products so that you "support the cause, not cause-marketers."

(I stole these links from an excellent post by sprucehillfarm, over at Mothers With Cancer.)

So as, I said, you won't find any pink ribbons here. Red boas, on the other hand, are perfectly acceptable.


(photo credit: A. Wayne).

drops in the water

Today, is the Jewish New Year.

My spouse is Jewish but I am not.

Neither of us is even remotely religious.

But I love the idea of fall renewal, of having the chance to start a brand new year, in this time of harvest and change.

Nonlinear Girl has a post on this subject today and on having the chance to "cast off" the things that hold us back:

"In the Jewish religion, today is the ceremony Tashlich, which is Hebrew for "casting off." As part of the start of a new year, this is a chance to symbolically cast off the sins of the past year. Jews go to a natural body of flowing water and throw in pieces of bread to symbolize the shedding of these old errors. The idea is to get rid of things you do not want to take with you into the new year. While traditionalists focus on specific errors made in the past year, right now I am thinking more about the ways I make life unnecessarily harder for myself. By tossing away some of these I hope I will feel lighter about whatever happens in the next year."

You can read more of this post here and leave a comment, if you like, about the things you would toss away to help you move forward.

I wrote:

Toss in my insecurities about my inability to be an artist, my shame about having cancer and the fears that keep me from 'doing.'

writing my way through breast cancer

I have a new post up at MyBreastCancerNetwork.Com:

"When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, in January 2006, I was given an envelope full of information, pamphlets about available resources, a calendar (to track all the appointments) and a journal for chronicling, “my breast cancer journey.”

While I had kept a journal for brief periods of my life in the past (and most actively while travelling), I set this one aside. I was far too overwhelmed with absorbing information and trying not to feel overwhelmed to contemplate keeping a personal diary of my feelings.

I did however, choose to start a blog. For most of my professional life, I did some form of communications or public relations work. I was strongly motivated to control the “message” around my breast cancer. I wanted to be the one to determine the Who, What, Where and When (if not the Why) of my cancer and its treatment. I also saw writing, as a way to process my experiences, as an important side benefit.

I could never have predicted how important my blog would come to my survival. I thrived on the connections I made, the community to whom I connected and, in opening myself up to others, I began to feel much stronger and more confident."

You can read the rest of this post here.

so many lovely people

I left for Toronto early Thursday morning and got back late last night.

I spent time with friends and family that I love very much.

I didn't get enough time with anyone but I enjoyed every moment.

And I ate. And ate. And ate.

I am tired today.

But I am happy.