Wednesday, September 3, 2014
What a lovely summer it has been. We have had a cooler summer than usual, having never even seen a single day where the temperature reached 90 degrees. We're getting a little warmth and humidity now, but not unbearable. Living on Maine's coast the way we do, we do not have central air conditioning. There are so few times that we really wish we did. Oh yes, it gets hot, and we find ourselves languishing in front of fans, but the worst is usually over in a few hours. A couple of weeks ago, it felt like autumn was arriving, with daily highs in the 70s, and nightly lows in the 50s -- heaven!
The biggest news of my summer is that my dear brother David is doing really well in his battle with melanoma. I hardly dare write about it, since I feel almost superstitious about it, like if I say out loud that I think he will win his fight, that I will jinx his odds. I know it's silly, but there it is.
David was diagnosed with stage 4 melanoma, which in the past, really has been a death sentence. As in, 6 months - 2 years survival. But that was before, and now, I am immeasurably thankful to say that he is getting the best of the best treatment available, and that other people with more dire cases than his(!), are being called cured. By their oncologists. You don't hear them utter that word often. Years and years ago, I removed a melanoma from David's back. That was a bit scary. I referred him out to a specialist, who performed a wide excision, and a sentinel node biopsy, both of which confirmed that the melanoma was in situ, meaning no evidence that it had spread, and that it had been cured by the original excision. Going forward, it meant that he had a higher risk of another melanoma, and that vigilance with limiting sun exposure and regular careful and thorough skin exams were indicated. And he has done that.
This spring however, he had a black toenail. Being a builder, he usually has a black fingernail or two, from bruising. He didn't remember getting an injury, but sure enough the nail shed as he expected it would. Instead of healing, and new nail appearing, the nail bed was getting worse, bloody, swollen, and he was having trouble wearing shoes, because of the bulky bandaging he was wrapping his toe in. A biopsy showed melanoma. This was surprising because we always thought that any new melanomas would occur in a more consistently sun-exposed area (back, shoulders, head). All the information I've ever found about melanoma in the nailbed was that they predominantly occur in dark-skinned individuals. David and I are both very fair-skinned Caucasians. Further testing showed that he does not have the most common "melanoma gene", and therefore wasn't eligible for the gene-targeted therapies. He has melanoma tumors in most of his bones, and some in soft tissue. But none in his brain, or heart. This spread of tumors distant from the original tumor automatically places him in Stage 4, which is the most serious. Here's where the story improves.
Today, David will get news of his first round of imaging tests, a quantitative measure of how he has responded to his treatment. I am dying for word, although I am pretty sure the news will be good, based on how well David looks on the whole, and that the tumor on his toe has receded and stopped bleeding. He has been wearing shoes (instead of sandals with socks). We joke about how many new pairs of shoes he has been sporting. His sis-in-law gave him a plaque showing a glass slipper, and a quote from Cinderella: "The right shoe can change your life." I call him Imelda.
For now, that's the news from this corner.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
|My Great-Grandfather, James|
For years after my great-grandmother died, my grandmother Irene took care of her father, my great-grandfather. He and his sons had always “worked in the woods”. In
Maine that means logging. Nowadays, logs, once cut and limbed, are “skidded”
out of the woods to be loaded onto log trucks using heavy machinery, specifically
“skidders”. I once heard a logger
bragging on his wife because she could “droive a skid-dah” as well as any man.
But in the old days, loggers dragged (“twitched”) the logs out of the woods using draft horses. A good team of horses didn’t need driving; they knew the way on their own. But a young boy's introduction to logging might be to drive the horses back and forth. My father did that, learning to holler “gee” and “haw” for right and left.
|My Great-Grandparents, Beulah and James|
I don’t know the details, but one day my great-grandfather was under a tree when it came down the wrong way. It happens from time to time, and many of these accidents result in fatality. So I guess you could say Great-Grandpa was lucky to survive. His back was broken and spinal cord injured. He became a paraplegic for the rest of his life. I didn’t know him as he died before I was born, but I have always heard glowing reports of the love and respect his descendants had for him.
So I suppose that it is appropriate that I think of my grandmother Irene when I think of a model for Bedside Sitting. She was always busy and cheerful, and took so many hardships in stride. She was the kind of woman who was up with the dawn every day, and to bed soon after supper was cleaned up. I remember her thinking her light bill must have been minimal. She always kept a garden, and was known to have awakened one morning to see a deer eating her peas. She grabbed her .22 and sneaked out into the “daw-yahd”* in her bra and panties, and had venison for her freezer.
I could go on and on telling little “rustic” stories about her (she was a registered Maine guide, and known for her ability to track bear for her urban clients looking for a hunting adventure), but my main focus is how she was an example of how in former times, illness was attended in the home, and necessarily part of comprehensive domestic training. More people were at ease with illness, as it entered and dwelt right in their own homes with them. I am not for a minute lamenting the advent of hospitals and other healthcare facilities, just recognizing that the removal of sick people from our homes can have a distancing effect. I have heard too many people describe having a fear of hospitals, and observed enough people looking anxious and ill-at-ease just entering the building to think that all of their discomfort in visiting the ill can be attributed to their concern for the patient. I contend that both visitor and patient can benefit from somehow eliminating this anxiety. I’m not sure exactly how to accomplish this, but I suspect that simply talking about it is a good place to start.
Have you a fear of hospitals? Are you uncomfortable around people when they are sick? Have you ever been the “home nurse” for a loved one? Did you feel comfortable in the role? I really want to hear your stories. If you want to express an opinion on this topic, leave me a comment; maybe you’d like to be a guest poster. I have no doubt that whatever your experience, someone will be helped by hearing your story.
Maine, a “dooryard” is
essentially the driveway, or more generally, the part of the yard which
constitutes the approach to the house.
The term undoubtedly precedes the automobile, and every winter it is
important to keep the dooryard clear of snow, so you can get in and out to the
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Thursday, May 29, 2014
|Probably my great grandfather and great uncle?|
Haying, Dallas Plantation, Maine (near Rangeley)
Every once in a while, I will be composing a post, and hit some key that deletes everything. I have no idea what I do, but I think it may be related to the heel of my palm brushing my laptop touch pad as I type.
Usually, what I have lost is fresh enough in my mind, or unedited enough to warrant re-writing, and while it is exasperating, I get over it and re-write.
It just happened again, and I lost a story I'm not up to re-doing at the moment.
I've been writing down my thoughts most of the day, and finally decided that I would do a blog post.
And then it vanished. I bet there is a way to recover these things, but I just can't figure it out.
I have often thought that I should compose my posts in a Word document first, but I think I then found cumbersome to get photos in the right places.
Anyway, besides some reminiscing I was doing, I was simply going to post that I am working on some posts. I still am; I think that some of what I have been writing today will appear in this space in future, just needs a little more work for blog-readiness.
I will say, however, that I have seen many blogs whose authors primarily write about hobby/crafty activities, and apologize when they are pre-occupied with life's challenges, and "fail" to post regularly. Or even, apologize for making reference to their personal concerns, which may be "unhappy" topics. "I don't want to be a Debbie Downer, but....."
I happen to feel that we, none of us bloggers, have an obligation to our visitors. Like any other medium, people can take or leave what we have to say. Not that I don't work at expressing mutually gratifying content, but I usually don't shy away from being direct about what is on my mind. For one thing, I use this blog, not so much as a personal journal, but at least as a general chronicle, suitable for sharing. I think there is value in what I have to say. After all, if I didn't, why bother? I trust that the occasional visitor will find value too, since I find value in the simplest of blog posts. Want to discuss the merits of how you store your coffee filters? I'll listen. Rant about the frustration of getting your vacuum cleaner fixed. I'm all ears. Puzzle over why you couldn't make sense of a sewing pattern instruction. I'm captivated. Maybe I find comfort in our commonality. Likewise, if you are struggling with bigger issues like being sick or out of work or worrying over something, I never feel disappointed when reading about it on your quilting blog. Maybe I'm just nosy.
Thank you to you if you came to visit and read my last post, and had the time and words to leave a sympathetic comment. If you read it and didn't know what to say, that's okay too. I know it doesn't mean you were indifferent. If you were disappointed not to find pretty little baby clothes or something like that, I know it was only temporary, and you wandered off and got your "fix" somewhere else. I hope you came back and here's why.
Sooner or Later. Mama always said there'd be times like this. Unless you die young, or don't love anybody, you will face the fear and worry of having someone you love be sick, or possibly even die. And while blog-surfing may be "merely" an escapist activity for you, I believe our blogs can serve an even better purpose. Escapism is a perfectly good coping strategy, to an extent, but it is limited. Their can be real power, however, in knowledge. If the information you consider is truly wisdom, and you apply it to your life, you have broadened your options for coping. Many peoples' experiences garner them wisdom, and those who can benefit from the experiences and wisdom of others will avoid needless suffering. No amount of wisdom can insure against suffering, but facing tragedy with limited coping resources causes suffering that is truly needless.
So, I will be sharing a bit about the challenges my loved ones are facing, but I think the focus will really be on what it is like to be a relatively healthy Bedside Sitter, wanting desperately to make things better, but feeling powerless. Being in the immediate support network of someone who is sick can be vulnerable and lonely, but it can also be fulfilling and empowering. If you're up to it, read my posts. If you're not, they'll be archived for later. And I'm not done stitching and homemaking and laughing and enjoying life. I'll share that stuff too.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
|Waiting to see what the next tide will bring......|
You see, my stepfather was diagnosed with leukemia in March, and I have been helping a little. And now my brother has been diagnosed with stage 4 melanoma. It's a bit overwhelming. I'm going up to Stratton in a couple of hours to hug my mother and brother and stepfather and sister-in-law and niece. We'll talk, we'll catch up, we'll eat together, we'll pause and sigh. Maybe we'll cry a little, but we'll probably tease and laugh and tell stories. Some of us will pray. I hope some of us will pray together. I hope we'll sing hymns together to help us remember God's grace and truth. We'll probably phone various other people. And make plans. And wonder what the future holds. And maybe I'll blog some of it, but I probably won't for a while anyway.
I will wonder what you all are blogging about. I'll check in on ThimbleAnna who is also caring for loved ones who are ailing. So, I'll be back when it feels right.
|An up hill climb.|
Friday, April 18, 2014
Wishing you all a happy and glorious Easter! May you be surrounded by those you love and may you rejoice in the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ!
I have recently attempted to put myself on a blogging schedule of sorts. I thought I'd try to blog on Mon, Weds, Fri of each week, but not to beat myself up if a day came and I had no ideas or pics/text ready to go. So, if you'll look back, you'll see that I missed Monday of this week and the preceding Friday. Then a bunch of things came together for Wednesday.
And now, a new leaf I'm turning over is that I am trying to commit myself to realistic scheduling, anticipating when I can and when I can't expect to be a regular blogger. I have always admired those bloggers who courteously notify their readers when they are taking a break. I have habitually just vanished without any hint of why, and I'm sorry about that. So today, I am announcing that I don't expect to blog next week at all. I will have a houseful starting later today for the Easter weekend. My youngest son Sean (who is 17 and a jr in high school), will be on Easter vacation next week, and wants to go visiting colleges. So, with any level of organization and coordination, I will be back on Monday, April 28th. Let's see how I do! (But I will still no doubt, be visiting your blogs and leaving comments; I love seeing what you-all are up to.)
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
I have a brother named Mike, and it's all I can do not to call him up every Wednesday morning.
This was the view from my kitchen window this particular hUMp day.
At least there's blue sky looking to the southwest.
Which became widespread by 10 am. It stayed in the 40s but the snow melted.
This may not be exciting news where you live, but to us it's pretty big stuff. The maple trees are budding! I love how the red buds look against the blue sky.
I finally sent out another package to Nantucket. I finished the yellow moss stitch jacket. With the bunny buttons. I almost left off the pompon until I saw it as a sort of "cottontail".
Yes, I know the little ceramic bunny has a hole in the middle. That's because it is actually a napkin ring. I bought a set last year from this website. And the little white crochet bootees? These are so sweet, and I made them from a pattern I borrowed from Olga at her blog Lacy Crochet. I have more pics of the bootees that I want to share, but I am consulting Olga first, which is in keeping with her wishes. You see, she recently found her free patterns being stolen and sold on etsy! She is continuing to share free patterns, because she's just that kind of a generous person, and she loves to share crochet projects with others who love crochet.
And I finally finished the bonnet to go with the Peek-a-Boo Sacque and Bootees.
I kept putting it off because I knew I really needed to practice bullion roses more before I tried to do them on the bonnet. I used some tips and tricks from Jeannie Beaumeister at Old Fashioned Baby. I attached the ribbon according to her recommendations (sort of), folding the end over and gathering it at about 3/4" in. Then I embroidered the rose on it. The ribbon I used was very ravelly and so I finished the cut ends with Dritz Fray Check, even the end I was folding over. It didn't want to fold over, I had to press it to get my point across. I also cut one ribbon about 3" longer than the other so that it would come out relatively even if it were tied with the bow on baby's right side.
I've saved the best for last.
The precious baby for whom I have been fussing all this time.
Here she is, the lovely Marie Rose! These pictures are about a month old. My brother is tormenting me by not sending me daily cell phone shots. In the shot above, I believe she shows her mother's eyes and nose, but the chin is directly from her paternal grandfather (my Dad). He had a distinct cleft; I have a bit of one too, more subtle.
Mum and I have yet to see this roly-poly cutie pie. Truth be told, we have been busy caring for someone who is ill, and unable to get away just yet. I'm setting my sights on Mothers' Day.
I want to cuddle her, smell her, gaze at her, can you blame me?