April 2014

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I am eating a bowl of spicy roasted red pepper and tomato soup, home made lickety split quick in the Vitamix. I love that machine. For some reason I’ve been craving tomato soup for days. Then, we visited our neighbors yesterday, and they gave me a packet of saltines from Hawaii. Saltines! How could I not make soup to go with them? Aside from slathering them with yellow mustard and topping with a sardine, this is their purpose in life according to Colleen Sohn. It is a fine one, I might add, almost holy.

Out in the side yard, this is happening. Verbascum (or mullein) in bloom! It looks so pretty. It’s also earlier than I remember, which is a sweet surprise.

There are a multitude of mushrooms all over the place!

I sure do love the dappled shade of the side yard, run riot with blooming wild strawberries. Here’s hoping we get a good crop this year.

Though there will likely be competition with the squirrels, possum, birds, and this cute bunny to eat them! I don’t know if she (or he, I have no idea) belongs to anyone, having spied her in the street near our house a few times over as many months. She raised one ear while I was talking to her, then approached to sniff my hand. We’ll just have to see if the friendship blossoms. Maybe if I give her a carrot?


It is spring, truly, with the whole of Portland dressed in dewy emerald and swaths of effervescent flowers, all happiness and wonder and so very much pink. All is happening under spectacularly swift skies, rolling and roiling with clouds one minute and bright beams of sun the next.

I watch from the window mostly, bound to my bed. The pain is easier now, eleven days post surgery, but it is still wholly present, a dull, quiet insistence. It is bossy, too, and gives directions. I may not move too quickly, nor may I stretch, nor lie on my side with the hubster spooned to my back. Simple pleasure, that, but I must wait for it. I am patient. So we kiss and lace our fingers together and press our limbs in parallel. I smell the sweetness of his beard. I smooth his hair when I cannot sleep.

And I ponder this body of mine. It is not perfect. It does what it pleases, despite my occasional pleading, diligent exercising, and imperfect efforts to eat wisely and healthfully. Gratefully, I no longer blame myself for all that has happened, for all that is wrong, for all that I cannot change. But there are times when I see a pregnant woman, a wee babe in someone’s arms, or, better yet, smell that sweet baby scent, and I crumple a little inside. My body, and her organs of femaleness, could never make this wonder that is life, heart pumping, with fingers and toes and silky soft skin. I didn’t ever want a child or to be a mother but did want to know that I could. To feel that the choice was mine. The loss is acute, but luckily, the pain waxes and wanes.



We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.

E.E. Cummings




Happy Earth Day to you, gentle reader! I hope you treat her and yourself kindly today. Every day would be great, actually. I took this picture a few days ago, on my first foray into the yard, giving Martha a tour of our beloved patch of earth. I got tuckered out after snapping the photo and came in for a rest. Life post surgery sure makes a body grateful for strength.

The hubster went back to work at the office yesterday, after taking two days off and then working from home the rest of last week. I got spoiled with him here, but we made up for his first day away by meeting him for lunch. That’s his mom next to him (Hi Martha!), but I’ll bet you can see the resemblance. He said to her, “After a while, you get used to all the picture taking.”

Our trio did good work at Grassa. Have you tried it, yet? My stars, if you like kindly servers, pasta, fritto misto, and rockin’ tunes played on a turntable, they have your number and mine! They also have the Yonkers cocktail, which translates to whiskey at lunch. Yeah, I earned it after walking more blocks than a person in my condition really ought. Phew! Live and learn.

And to this morning, more savoring of our garden gifts. I feel like the poppy, almost ready to bloom, to be myself again, and stretch my sturdy yet delicate petals to sun and wind and rain.

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Hello! It’s been a while! Thank you so very much for all of your kind words of support and love about my surgery. I am one lucky gal, surrounded by the most marvelous and caring people, including the hubster’s mom, Martha, here for the week to help out. I’ve gotten flowers, a lovely plant, spectacular meals, texts, sweets, and every manner of treat, in person and from afar. Boy howdy, does it make my recovery a little less difficult to be bouyed by so much love! A million thanks!

As for the surgery, it went swimmingly. So much so that I was released from the hospital that day! Compared to my last surgery, this is a piece of cake. I have spent the majority of the last six days incredibly sore and in bed, and for the first couple of days only able to get out with much help from the hubster. Now, I am fully mobile, and as of yesterday, without pain medication, able to get dressed by myself, go up stairs, and leave the house without complications, though not without major fatigue. Errands are hard work, peeps!

And so is blogging! So forgive me for my brevity while I take a s l o w stroll around the block to clear my head.

My care giver extraordinaire, taken while I was in bed, of course. He is truly the best!


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