Nerve Sheath Sarcoma - Vets, Scalpels and Lili

Well, I wish I could say it is good news. Poor little Lili has a new primary Nerve Sheath tumor on the same poor leg that already went through the indignities of radiation. I've had too many phone calls and appointments with too many (albeit helpful and understanding) vets. And now off to yet another one, a specialist. We can only hope and pray (and pay) for the best. And hope we don't have to go through another series of radiation. That was hard on both of us. And that Lili doesn't have to ultimately have an amputation. If you knew her, you'd know the idea is pretty terrible. My dancing dog.

This has been quite a year, it seems like it has been one thing after another. I can rationalize it against more terrible things that have happened to others, but pain is relative to the soul. So I guess I'll just say a prayer, pour some whiskey into the earth this Samhain eve, as a tribute to the old ways, and put my game face on. The game face is tired.

WORRIED...

This is Lili, my heart. She took over when Max died. She's been through quite a bit in her short, 9 year old life. When I got her, her rear leg was crushed from an accident with her prior owner. She was only 12 weeks old, and they were going to euthanize her. With that face? So we fixed it, with the help of very good orthopedic veterinary surgeon. $ Then the obligatory spay. $ Then she blew out her ACL just like a professional athlete, and we did 'plateau levelling' surgery to fix that. $$ Then, last year, she got nerve sheath cancer on her front leg. $ That tumor was removed, and then came back six months later.$$ Tumor II was removed, and then we started radiation. $$$$ That was an unbelievably hard process, and if I didn't have the support of my family and my friends and the people at work, I think I might have crumbled. She had just about every complication you could think of, and from start to finish, it was a grueling eight months. But she healed.

Lili has the happiest dog personality I've ever met. Despite her furrowed brow in the photo (she mugs for the camera)she dances every day.

And now she has another lump on her leg, just below the radiation site. Regular vet today, oncology vet on Tuesday.

Worried.

St. Francis pray for us.

SPINSTER CEMETERY, FLORENCE ITALY

Unmarried women. Generally, we're pretty happy. Especially as we hit 50 and most of our friends are getting divorced, with children in the mix (unhappily).

I just love the term "spinster". I actually had a family member use it to my face to "describe me" a couple of years ago. I was pretty astounded. What a throwback! I've had a number of men in my life, many wonderful and many more 'not so much'. So despite the fact that at least half my family is happily married, I've concluded that the natural order of things is for members of the opposite sex to live across the street from one another. Close enough to be companions as needed, and far away enough to get away from each other as needed. A close male friend dubbed it "Nancy's Love Commune" and offered to sell time shares.

So, a friend and I were traveling in Florence, Italy, and I wanted to see the "English Cemetery" which is right in the middle of the City in an urban island (It is actually owned by the Swiss). Elizabeth Barrett Browning is buried there. While wandering around, we found a great tombstone, "Sacred To the Memory of Ann Murray, SPINSTER obeit (died) May 6, 1843, Florence.

Well, we couldn't resist putting on our worst tragic faces and having our pictures taken.

Ann Murray, we honor you.

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

I've known this poem since I was 8 years old. I'm surprised I don't twitch more than I do!

Little Orphant Annie

LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other children, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Wunst they wuza little boy woudn't say his prayers, --
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout: --
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputter, an' the wind goes woo--oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, --
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' cherish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

James Whitcomb Riley(1849 - 1916)

The Next Gladys Kravitz

I live in a nice neighborhood. I really do. I keep telling myself that. But there is one trouble house - you know the kind! Six cars parked on the front lawn, an RV with an extension cord strung into the house, an ever changing cast of characters. It is interesting to work from home, with a bird's eye view of the comings and goings.

I've been working with the police to track some plate numbers that come and go. Surprisingly, the police and detectives have been very responsive (it probably helps that they already know about this place and its' occupants and it's on their radar).

However, as I'm crouched behind the blinds with my binoculars, with my dog looking at me very oddly, I do feel like Gladys Kravitz. Abner!!!!

SAMHAIN, HALLOWEEN, WHEN THE VEIL BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT IS THE THINNEST

Samhain marks one of the two great doorways of the Celtic year, for the Celts divided the year into two seasons: the light and the dark, at Beltane on May 1st and Samhain on November 1st. Some believe that Samhain was the more important festival, marking the beginning of a whole new cycle, just as the Celtic day began at night. For it was understood that in dark silence comes whisperings of new beginnings, the stirring of the seed below the ground. The most magically potent time of this festival is November Eve, the night of October 31st, known today of course, as Halloween.

Samhain (Scots Gaelic: Samhuinn) literally means “summer's end.” With the rise of Christianity, Samhain was changed to Hallowmas, or All Saints' Day, to commemorate the souls of the blessed dead who had been canonized that year, so the night before became popularly known as Halloween, All Hallows Eve, or Hollantide. November 2nd became All Souls Day, when prayers were to be offered to the souls of all who the departed and those who were waiting in Purgatory for entry into Heaven. Throughout the centuries, pagan and Christian beliefs intertwine in a gallimaufry of celebrations from Oct 31st through November 5th, all of which appear both to challenge the ascendancy of the dark and to revel in its mystery.

In the country year, Samhain marked the first day of winter, when the herders led the cattle and sheep down from their summer hillside pastures to the shelter of the stable. Those destined for the table were slaughtered, after being ritually devoted to the gods in pagan times. All the harvest must be gathered in, for come November, the faeries would blast every growing plant with their breath, blighting any nuts and berries remaining on the hedgerows. Peat and wood for winter fires were stacked high by the hearth. The endless horizons of summer gave way to a warm, dim and often smoky room; the symphony of summer sounds was replaced by a counterpoint of voices, young and old, human and animal.

In early Ireland, people gathered at the ritual centers of the tribes, for Samhain was the principal calendar feast of the year. The greatest assembly was the 'Feast of Tara,' focusing on the royal seat of the High King as the heart of the sacred land. In every household throughout the country, hearth-fires were extinguished. All waited for the Druids to light the new fire of the year -- not at Tara, but at Tlachtga, a hill twelve miles to the north-west. It marked the burial-place of Tlachtga, daughter of the great druid Mogh Ruith, who may once have been a goddess in her own right in a former age.

At all the turning points of the Celtic year, the gods drew near to Earth at Samhain, so many sacrifices and gifts were offered up in thanksgiving for the harvest. Personal prayers in the form of objects symbolizing the wishes of supplicants or ailments to be healed were cast into the fire, and at the end of the ceremonies, brands were lit from the great fire of Tara to re-kindle all the home fires of the tribe.

Even today, bonfires light up the skies in many parts of the British Isles and Ireland at this season. Whatever the reason, there will probably always be a human need to make fires against the winter’s dark.

Dreaming Stones
Go to a boundary stream and with closed eyes, take from the water three stones between middle finger and thumb, saying these words as each is gathered:

I will lift the stone
As Mary lifted it for her Son,
For substance, virtue, and strength;
May this stone be in my hand
Till I reach my journey’s end.

(Scots Gaelic)
Togaidh mise chlach,
Mar a thog Moire da Mac,
Air bhrìgh, air bhuaidh, ‘s air neart;
Gun robh a chlachsa am dhòrn,
Gus an ruig mi mo cheann uidhe.

Carry them home carefully and place them under your pillow. That night, ask for a dream that will give you guidance or a solution to a problem, and the stones will bring it for you.

© Mara Freeman, 1999

Jenny White Ray of Light

Well, it's October again. Lots of October birthdays in my family. My two brothers were both born in October, on the 3rd and the 5th of that month. I counted backwards and have concluded that they were both "New Years Eve" babies. I haven't asked my Mom about that.

And in October my sweet Jenny was born, October 21st, 1980. She would have been TWENTY SEVEN YEARS OLD this year. Amazing. Hard to talk about it even now. She died of cystic fibrosis just before she was 13 years old. Her mother died nine months later of cancer. And my brother - so strong - found a new path through life, as a side trail from the one he had been on. What else do you do? He is an inspiration about living through trials that would end the lives of some people. He set his face into life as a tribute to those he had lost.

I prefer to think about the wonderful times we had: Jenny, my 'white ray of light' her sly smile and sense of humor which she inherited from both her parents. Our hammock time at my Mom and Dad's. And her search for the perfect Christmas tree at her Grandpa and Grandma's on a very rare white Christmas season.

These anniversaries are difficult even so many years between. But Jenny was a pistol - never a victim or an invalid. So I have to believe she's over there on the other side bossing some folks around (her Mom right behind her!)

Jenny and Candy. I miss you.

"TALKING TO DEER" (or "How I Survived Lost in the Wilderness in Sunriver, Oregon")

So, as you know from my prior posts, I spent a long weekend in Central Oregon at Sunriver resort. On Saturday, despite the fact that it was VERY COLD (had snowed on the foothills the night before) I hauled my sedentary - ahem - self out for what I had anticipated to be a half hour walk.

Now, you may think it is impossible to 'get lost' at a resort. I assure you, in Sunriver it is quite possible. Not hopelessly lost but, "wander around longer than you had planned lost".

I set out without any real plan, just picked a path in the late afternoon sun. Soon, I happened upon a herd of deer. Not tame, but not afraid either. A big doe, obviously the leader, another doe, a yearling and three little fawn, just past 'spots'. Two of the fawn had little boy deer horn buds. Well, I'm captivated. Naturally, I walk along with them, talking all the while. Talking to the deer, as they do their evening foraging. Talking, talking, and not paying attention to where I'm going. I keep this up until the 'head honcho doe' starts chuffing at me. "For goddsakes quit babbling and leave us alone we can't understand a thing you're saying...". So I walk on.

Pretty soon I realize that I have no idea where I am. No problem - this is Sunriver, all paths lead somewhere! So I wander on, hit a road and ask at a business for an alternate route back to the lodge rather than backtrack. They give me one, which I promptly foul up, walk a half mile on a loop and end up back in the same place. Then I DO decide to backtrack. But nothing looks familiar. The sun is starting to get low in the sky, its getting cold again, and all the houses are shuttered for the winter. I am thinking about the possibility of breaking into one of the summer homes and living on crackers and water until spring. I am calculating where the sun is - over my left shoulder, that would be Southwest at this time of year so I must be heading Northeast roughly. OH MY GOD WHERE AM I??

This is especially amusing because 1) I have blithely followed my dad into rough Trask drainage backcountry - true wilderness - when we used to hunt with never a thought about whether we could get back - all we had to do was find a 'cat road' (there is always one somewhere, even if it doesn't even resemble a road) and 2) I had a cel phone with me. But these fantasies do persist.

Finally, I run into my friend 'head honcho doe' and company and I know I'm on the right path. I stop to chat. The two little horn bud guys bed down six feet from me, and I figure its time to do the same. Two hours after my adventure in the wilderness begins, I'm sitting in front of a fire, reading a book and pondering my brush with death. And wondering - just how do you talk to deer?