A Closet to Hide In

Remember, when the going gets tough…
you can always come over and hide in the closet with me.

My sister Nancy sends me a card a week. They are usually humorous cards, making light of our tendency to whine, grouch, or feel sorry for ourselves. They always make me laugh, as did this most recent one about hiding in a closet.

How many of you have hidden in a closet? I have… all curled up in a dark corner as if I could shut out all the hurt and pain. For a while it feels safe. “I’ll just go to sleep here,” I think. Then I start to feel hungry, or thirsty. My leg gets a cramp. I need to go to the bathroom. I am bored. Okay. Time's up!

But keep that closet ready, Nancy. Just in case.

"Humor is that which most efficiently recognizes that we are living in an imperfect world, with imperfect arguments and things that are insane, illogical, and irrational. And the only way we can live with that fact is to laugh." -- J. Barsoux

... PLM

An Uninspiring Day

I know I’m supposed to stay upbeat, remain optimistic and strong. But it’s not always easy… especially on a day like this, with sullen grey clouds right down to the rooftops and a continuous coastal drizzle. The one activity I can usually count on, writing, has seemingly abandoned me. So this posting will not be inspirational, but rather it will be honest.

I admit that when I see old folks laughing on the street corner, or enjoying themselves at a restaurant, I experience ambivalent feelings. When I say ‘old folks’ I mean anyone older than myself. I look at them and think, I’m never going to get that old. I don’t hold any grudge. It’s great that with all their wrinkles, silver grey hair, bi-focals, and sagging jaw lines, they are out there still enjoying life. I always thought I would be long lived; maybe even reach the century mark. After all, I’ve taken good care of this body of mine over the years. But with stage IV lung cancer at 69, it doesn’t look like I will get much older.

I suppose my father thought he would live longer too. No one expects to die before the age of forty like he did. My mother actually welcomed death at 79. She didn’t enjoy life much, and saw death as a release. My grandmother lived well into her 90’s… the last few years of her life were spent in a nursing home suffering from senile dementia. She didn’t know me when I went to visit her… her world was in the past, peopled by those no longer living. I watched her obediently open her mouth; her lips forming a little ‘O’ like a baby bird. Mother pushed a spoonful of tasteless mashed potatoes into grandmother’s mouth; wiped away the excess. An aide waited to change her adult diapers. Most of the time Grandmother seemed frightened. There were people who were trying to rob her, she said. I shake my head in the memory… there are some things worse than death. Thankfully that is one I will not have to face.

I find myself searching the Internet for advanced stage lung cancer survivor stories. There aren’t many, but they are there. Like the St. Petersburg, Florida resident, Dennis Zabaldo who “was diagnosed in October 2002 with Stage IV lung cancer. At the time his doctor only gave him six months to live. Now six years later he is working out five times a week and lives a healthy, active life.” Now that’s inspirational.

... P. L. Morningstar

Finding Strength

(Photo by P. L. Morningstar)

Those who contemplate the beauty of the Earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of birds, the ebb and flow of tides, the folded bud ready for spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after the night and spring after the winter.

…Rachel Carson, Silent Spring
.

Quinoa Stuffing and Pumpkin Soufflé

When you have lived enough years, there are all kinds of Thanksgiving memories, from going to Grandma’s house and sitting with all the cousins at a separate table, to preparing the first Thanksgiving dinner on my own. But the generational family dinners, as wonderful as they were, all seem to run together. It is the unusual that stands out, like being invited to share dinner with near strangers, as we did in 1998…

Bob and I had arrived in Roche Harbor earlier in the month of November. We planned to winter over in the San Juans before returning to Middle Rendezvous in the spring. We were liveaboards and knew no one besides the staff at the marina. We had no plans for Thanksgiving other than cooking a frozen turkey breast, opening a can of cranberry sauce, and baking a pumpkin pie. Those plans changed when we went to the marina store to pick up mail. Diane, the postmistress, asked what we were going to do for Thanksgiving. When she heard that we would be alone, she said, “Oh, you must come and share Thanksgiving with us. There is just my husband and me and we’ve invited several other people who are alone. I’ll come pick you up.”

So on Thanksgiving afternoon, Diane picked us up and drove us to her home. She and her husband Walt had come to the island twenty years earlier during the influx of “back to nature” folks. They wore Birkenstocks, and lived on seven acres with horses, cats, and a dog. About twenty vehicles (mostly BMWs) in varying stages of repair were scattered around their property. Diane’s husband was almost 65 and owned a small construction company. His dream was to retire, go back to college, and get a Ph.D. in cultural anthropology.

One of the their guests was a soft-spoken man who had once been a marine biologist specializing in “worms.” But there wasn’t much demand for a worm specialist, he explained, so he worked as a carpenter for Walt. Other guests were Ruth and Julia, recently having moved from the Bay area. They were accomplished singers and entertained us after dinner with Celtic tunes and sea ballads.

The traditional Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t exactly “traditional.” We did have turkey, but the rest of the meal was unusual… quinoa stuffing, creamed rice, pumpkin soufflé, organic vegetable salad, and herb rolls with ghee, non-sugar apple pie and Rice Dream alamode, carob brownies, and herbal tea. Thank God! Julia brought a Libby’s homemade pumpkin pie. Thanksgiving wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without one. It turned out to be a marvelous evening of music and conversation, and not even one football game!

... P. L. Morningstar

I'm Still Here

In October Bob and I visited a favorite nursery near LaConner and brought home various pots of herbs, a maidenhair fern, and newly potted bulbs of paperwhite narcissus for forcing. I titled my Blog posting for the day, “When the Paperwhites Bloom, I’ll Be Here,” and I wrote…

The pot of narcissus bulbs sits near a south facing window, the green tips an inch high. I have no doubt that I will still be here when their sweet scented blooms brighten a winter day.

Winter is still weeks away, but today the delicate blooms of those paperwhite narcissus fill the room with the fragrance of spring… just in time for Thanksgiving. A marvelous confusion of time, but I am still here. Bob says I need to aim for something a little farther away. How about my birthday in May?

… P. L. Morningstar

Update to the Update

Today my Oncologist called to discuss my concerns about recurring symptoms and the more recent ones that I have experienced since my last chemo treatment. The decision was made to move forward my CT scan, which was originally scheduled for l6 December. It has been rescheduled for next Tuesday, 2 December, and the next round of Avastin will be put on hold until we know what is happening. The tumor could be growing again which would mean changing to a different cancer-fighting drug, or there could be a blood clot, one of the risks that comes with Avastin. It is very encouraging to me to have my concerns taken seriously, and to feel that I have a proactive role in my own treatment.

... P. L. Morningstar

Lung Cancer, the “Invisible” Cancer

Today I prepared an Update report for my doctors. I listed symptoms that have returned; symptoms which I had experienced prior to the beginning of my cancer treatment in July. Symptoms such as a cough, hoarseness, shortness of breath, and increased fatigue. I listed new symptoms that I am experiencing such as dizziness, loss of balance, and a twinge in my left hip joint when I stand up – causing temporary weakness in that leg. And I listed the continuing deterioration of my eyesight. Past and future dates for CT scans were noted, along with other pertinent information. The reason for this detailed Update? To let my physicians know of my growing concern, and why.

I have learned the hard way how difficult it is to bring attention to what often appears to be innocuous complaints. Lung cancer has earned the name “Invisible Cancer” because it often develops without specific signs or symptoms that reveal its presence until later, when a cure is unlikely or impossible. A year ago, I sought medical attention for a chronic cough, hoarseness, and a “rattle” sound in my throat. The focus of attention then was to the upper respiratory and gastrointestinal areas. I received prescriptions that “might” help, but proved to be ineffective. By the time I realized that, I was back in Canada, 800 miles away. Since I was a non-smoker, no one had thought to order a simple chest x-ray, which would have revealed my lung cancer in its early stage.

In May I came to Bellingham with those same symptoms, plus shortness of breath, severe fatigue, and finger clubbing, a change I had noticed in my fingernails and identified through the Internet. It was the finger clubbing that brought an instant reaction from my doctor, and eventually led to my lung cancer diagnosis. What is clubbing? It is an enlargement of the tips of the fingers or toes and a change in the angle where the nails emerge. Clubbing seems to occur with some lung disorders (lung cancer, lung abscess, bronchiectasis). I am still amazed that clubbing is not listed under the signs of lung cancer.

The list of things I am experiencing may mean nothing at all, or it could mean that the tumor is growing again and my treatment needs to be changed. The one thing I do know is that I cannot afford to be complacent. My life is at stake here.

My oncologist left a message that he will call me tomorrow…

... PLM

Alone does not mean lonely

It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts. ~K.T. Jong

We fool ourselves when we believe that busy lives are happy lives; that surrounding ourselves with people will keep us from feeling lonely. In fact, I was lonelier in the latter years of my marriage than at any other time in my life. My ex-husband and I were two people living parallel lives in the same house. I survived by keeping busy, filling the days on my calendar, convincing myself that I was happy and living a full, meaningful life. When my marriage ended and my life came to an abrupt though temporary halt, I was like the child in the Hans Christian Andersen folk tale, THE EMPORER’S NEW CLOTHES who said, "But he has nothing on!" I realized that my life had no authenticity, and I had been too busy to notice.

No one need go as far as I did to find insight. But living on a sailboat, on a small island, and two years living in a remote log cabin in northern B.C., certainly gave new meaning to the word alone. Friends would write, “Don’t you get lonely out there with nothing to do?” I tried to explain:

My life is simple here on Middle Rendezvous Island. No quick trips to the grocery store for last minute items. No parties to organize or attend. My wardrobe consists of jeans, t-shirts and sweaters; Tevas, rubber boots, or hiking shoes the only footwear to choose from. Nighttime entertainment consists of CBC Radio, reading, or looking at the stars in the sky. There are no traffic jams, no traffic lights, no cars, no roads! No WalMarts, and no shopping malls. And I am happier than I have been in my whole life. It is the absence of things that brings that happiness. Bob and I are two loners who share solitude together, and at times, apart. I like my own company. Alone I can hear my own thoughts, feel my own emotions, and dream my own dreams. In the silent and uncrowded spaces of British Columbia, my world has grown, and I am never lonely. I have learned that being alone is not the same as feeling alone. (July 1998)

Now I live in a small city, in a neighborhood of old houses turned into off-campus apartments for college students. There is no silence here. Oddly enough, it does not bother me. In the midst of passing cars, train whistles, airplanes overhead, shouts and laughter from neighbors, I have learned that I can still find that quiet place. It resides within myself.

Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self. ~May Sarton

... PLM

A Holiday Fair

Often in the past I have been on the vendor side of the Holiday Arts & Crafts fairs. When I belonged to the Assistance League in Corvallis, we worked on craft items for months in preparation for the annual fund-raising Holiday Bazaar event. And when I lived on San Juan Island, the day before Thanksgiving was dedicated to setting up my booth for the Friday, Saturday and Sunday Island Artisans Annual Holiday Marketplace. I sold my framed botanicals, photography, hand-stitched crazy quilt hearts, and wild rosehip wreaths. Oh the work that goes into those events! Which is why I could appreciate being on the other side of the table today at the Roeder Home Holiday Arts & Crafts Sale, sponsored by the Cultural Arts Program of Whatcom County. The historic home is itself a showcase… taking five years to build from 1903 to 1908.

The home itself was ultra-modern for its time with a vacuum system throughout its entirety. The vacuum pump was located in the basement as well as the wood burning furnace that was made from a Great Northern railway boiler. Equipped both for electricity and gas, the beautiful brass light fixtures, some with Steuben glass shades, are still in use today. The house also has five fireplaces.

Baskets were provided for carrying chosen items. A harp played softly in the background. There was jewelry, hand painted crystal, knitted scarves and hats, pottery, paintings, photography, rocks painted to look like cats, tree ornaments, and hand-crafted snowmen, Santas, and tiny mice. For myself I chose a snowman in top hat with a black crow on his shoulder. Then we found what we considered perfect gifts for my three sisters… but that’s a secret.

... PLM

Awareness

You know those pink plastic grocery bags we all saw last month, the ones that proclaimed that the store proudly supported the Fight Against Breast Cancer? It was a great way to promote public awareness to the disease during October, which was Breast Cancer Awareness Month. November is Lung Cancer Awareness Month. Have you seen any special grocery bags for lung cancer? Have you seen anything in the media about lung cancer?

I decided to Google that subject, without much success. But I did find a report on new research concerning Avastin (the drug I am currently taking) published in the Nov. 19 issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association. “The anti-cancer drug Avastin increases the risk of blood clots in the legs and lungs by 33 percent.” The risks varied according to the type of cancer involved – affecting almost 15 percent of those with non-small cell lung cancer. Of course there are risks with any cancer treatment, and I have to hope that the benefits outweigh the risks. "It is a tough choice. Avastin is a very effective drug, no question about it. It certainly impacts on survival by a significant amount of time," said Khorana (Dr. Alok Khorana, an associate professor of medicine at the University of Rochester Medical Center). "Even though this report is concerning, it doesn't make me stop wanting to use Avastin. It's more of an awareness issue, and making sure both patients and providers are aware of the side effect."

Awareness can be a problem though, as I have discovered. And people with lung cancer don’t live long enough to pose for a “Critters for the Cure” calendar, or to become emblematic survivors walking or running for public awareness of their disease. It is the loved ones we leave behind who must spread the word… Lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in the United States, killing more people each year than breast, prostate, colon, liver, kidney and melanoma cancers combined.

... PLM

With A Little Help From My Friends

If you want to read a feel good story, here is one that is sure to brighten your day.

NY couple, trucker help injured butterfly migrate
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

LAKE LUZERNE, N.Y. -- A monarch butterfly has a chance at completing its species' famed migration to central Mexico thanks to some tiny cardboard splints, a bit of contact cement and a trucker from Alabama.

The insect's broken wing was painstakingly splinted by an upstate New York couple who then helped it hitch a ride south after the weather in the southern Adirondacks turned cold.

To read more, click here.

On the Virtues of Wandering

Wandering has advantages. We started off heading for the Woods Coffee House located along the Bellingham Bay waterfront in Boulevard Park. But we were hungry for something more substantial, so we ended up at the Old Town Cafe instead, and enjoyed a delightful late lunch. Since we were already near the docks, after lunch we decided to try to find gate 9 at Squalicum Harbor. That's where nautical suspense writer Clyde Ford, whom we both enjoy reading, just might have his boat moored. We didn't find his boat, but we came across the Marine Life Center where we spent a pleasant half hour talking with the curator about their rather wonderful Giant Pacific octopus, a sick sea perch, assorted tide pool critters, and the destructive effects of the sonar used by the U.S. Navy. We left the Bellingham marina headquarters parking lot and headed to Boulevard Park. So, with a few hours of sunlight left we have finally wandered into Woods Coffee House and are sitting in front of their stone fireplace enjoying fresh coffee and a warming fire. Lots of small sailboats are out on the Bay taking advantage of light winds and a chill, but sunny afternoon. Maybe we’ll make one more stop before going home. Seeing the sailboats makes me think of nautical charts. I think I remember a marine supply store we passed on our way here…

… Bob

A Day in the Mountains

It wasn’t raining when we got up last Sunday morning. In fact there were patches of blue sky that showed promise for the day. “We should do something today,” Bob said, “Should we drive down the coast or into the mountains?” I opted for the mountains. I threw a couple of apples and a chocolate bar into a pack along with my birding binoculars and a camera. We left I-5 at the Mount Baker Highway exit, and headed east toward the northern Cascades.

It had been three years since we’d traveled this road, even before our move to Canada. We’d rented snowshoes at REI and planned a weekend of snowshoeing at Mount Baker. Now we watched for familiar sights along the 57-mile National Forest Scenic Byway that runs through the Nooksack Indian Reservation, past Christmas tree farms and horse-boarding ranches, and parallels the Nooksack River, a well-known salmon river. I can’t say that any of it looked familiar until we got to the little community of Glacier – population under one hundred. There’s the ski shop where I bought my wool knit cap. And there’s the grocery store owned by that young couple. And… there’s that old restaurant with the mahogany bar brought around the Horn and the huge wood-burning stove in the center of the room. So of course we decided to stop for lunch there.

Graham’s Restaurant is located in an old building that originally began as a general store in 1902. When we walk in the waitress says, “Grab a menu there next to the door and sit anywhere you want.” No problem with seating in the middle of the afternoon during the off-season. Their menus are unique… I mean the physical menu. It looks like a small town newspaper. There are headlines, historic photos, articles such as: “Sasquatch: Mysterious, Elusive, and Protected by Law,” “So You’ve Never Worked in a Restaurant Before,” and “People of the Ferns.” Printed boldly on the top right hand side of the front page… “Cash, and Canadian currency accepted.” (Some of you may not know how remarkable that statement is – we have been forced to use a credit card numerous times because neither cash nor Canadian currency, or even a debit card was accepted!!) Pages three through six contained the menu.

They have fun here. Under “Starters” is this: Wedgies Our well-trained, highly motivated, courteous staff will personally cook your potato wedgies in our well-equipped, massive kitchen. You can doctor up your wedgies with ketchup, sriracha, ranch or peanut butter (peanut butter is our least popular). The walls of the restaurant are decorated with miscellaneous antiques, old movie posters for the 1935 film “Call of the Wild,” and photos of Clark Gable and Loretta Young who starred in that film. Mount Baker was one of the filming locations. There is even a photo of Loretta Young warming her hands over the very same wood stove that warms the room where we sat to eat lunch.

We continued the drive, twisting up hairpin curves to the Mount Baker ski area. The ski lifts looked pretty lonely, hanging immobile over bare pavement and ground. Skiing by Thanksgiving may be an iffy proposition. But the 1998-99 snowfall season at Mt. Baker set a new record for the most snowfall ever measured in the United States in a single season - 1,140 inches.

We returned to Bellingham, promising ourselves that we would go back to Mount Baker and Glacier when the snow flies. We have our own snowshoes now, well used through two winters in northern B.C. On Monday, we heard from our friend Richard in Kitwanga, “Its been snowing for a good part of the night, we now have 6 inches of fresh heavy snow and still coming down like crazy.”

Photos: Mount Shuksan from Mount Baker, and Graham’s Restaurant

... PLM

Shedding Old Identities

On the subject of identities… it is a familiar one to me, losing old ones, finding new ones. I think the greatest upheaval in my life came with my divorce. Everyone expected me to remain in my Victorian home, puttering in the garden and devoting my life to charitable good works, with a little travel thrown in… perhaps Elderhostel. Instead, I fell in love again, learned to sail, and headed north… in winter.

Our Winter Passage continues…

After the purchase of twenty-acres on Middle Rendezvous Island, I had little time for reflection over the next two months. I decided it was time to sell my home in Oregon, which required my traveling there to prepare the house for sale. My 1892 Victorian house had been the culmination of a long-held dream. I thought I would grow old in the house on the corner of Fifth and Adams. Now I found myself leaving it without a backward glance.

I had no second thoughts, or regrets, but I became aware that another aspect of my “self” was being stripped away …that of pride. The gracious Queen Anne house and surrounding gardens had given me that. It had set me apart from others, given me an identity of my own. Before then, society saw me through my husband. How many times had I been introduced as the “lovely wife” of so and so? More often than I care to remember. It was that pride, that ‘identity,’ which I now found hardest to part with – the recognition that went along with having restored and owned a landmark house. It was a double-edged sword, an ego booster that too rigidly defined who I was, even as “wife and mother” had previously defined me. In people’s minds, the house and I were inseparable. It became who I was.

Living on a sailboat a thousand nautical miles north solved that. No one in British Columbia knew or cared that I owned a National Register home, and that was okay. It was yet another identity that I had outgrown, like a snake shedding its skin. Life does have a way of stirring the pot just when you think you’ve got it all figured out. I remember sitting in my car outside the Social Security Office soon after my divorce was final. I looked at the newly reissued S.S. card, at the name MORNINGSTAR… my name. I began to cry… When I returned home from the Social Security office, I wrote in my journal:

(March 1996) Who could have known that there would be such significance in a name? Today I drove to the local Social Security Office to have my social security card reissued in my maiden name. I was not prepared for the sense of retrieval that came from this small act. Leaving the office, I thought, “I am no longer someone’s possession. I am my own person again.”

I still recall the feelings I experienced during the divorce, the fear of losing my identity. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was not a wife, a couple, or part of a mother/father team. I began to lose my sense of self when I gave up my own name thirty-five years ago. The “I” became “we” and as with so many other women of my generation, the self became submerged into the lives of others. With my divorce I have lost those roles, but I have gained the freedom to create my own identity. I guess that’s called growth.

“If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found.” ~Author Unknown

... PLM

Identity Crisis

This blog started out as a travelogue. It chronicled our journey across the continent and back with our Jeep and 16-foot travel trailer… looking for hope. We traveled 14,730 miles over a two-month period. When we returned, we continued to blog, expanding its exposure through the Seattle P-I Reader’s Blog under the title “Living Simply.” We wrote about life off the grid in northern B.C. We wrote about nature and wildlife, and efforts to simplify our lives. We wrote about our concerns for America; worldwide environmental degradation; the loss of bio-diversity; and global climate change. Then our world changed… advanced stage lung cancer… and a move to a small U.S. city with a power grid, telephone lines, garbage pick-up, shopping malls, freeways, and traffic. And yes, convenient modern medical facilities where I receive leading edge cancer treatment.

The point of this rambling discussion is that the blog is facing an identity crisis. I could focus on cancer, but I write what I live and I don’t want cancer to consume the rest of my life. With the future in question, I find myself looking backwards. That is what I have been doing lately… rereading old journals and trying to record life’s memorable moments… the equivalent to painting my name on a rock – “Morningstar Was Here.” But perhaps those stories are of no interest to anyone but me. So I ask the visitors of this blog: What brings you back again? What do we write about that you find interesting? Looking back at old adventures? Living with cancer? Every day thoughts and experiences? We really want to know.

... PLM

Our First Days

Morningstar’s reflections on our first days at Middle Rendezvous Island…

Overnight, clouds have blown in to cover the stars and the moon. Another weather system will soon be upon us. It will bring rain, and our idyllic two days of discovery at Middle Rendezvous will be only a memory... but memories so rich they will last a lifetime. It has been a time to be young and lighthearted again. Heedless of slippery seaweed and rocks that give way, we explored the exposed cove at low tide; mounds of purple starfish filled a rocky crevice, orange basket stars, sea urchins, and oysters so plentiful that we had to hold back in our enthusiasm to take only a dozen. A bucket and garden trowel were all we needed to gather enough little neck and butter clams for dinner. I raked through the gravel, going deeper each time; with each stroke one of us would holler “There’s one!” Bob or I would pluck it out, rinse it off and throw it into our pink plastic bucket. Pink? What can I say? It was the only one we had.

An excursion just to find eagle feathers - does this sound like an acceptable pastime for two mature, rational adults? No, but it should be. We clambered over rocky cliffs and mossy bluffs, whacked our way through waist-high salal, looking up at snags, and under them for the tell-tale signs of eagle feasting - a fishtail, rodent skull, feathers, small bones. We didn’t find an eagle’s nest or perch tree, but we did find one beautiful eagle feather.

It was a time for love. Arms wrapped around each other, we stood looking out over the channel to the snow-covered mountains north and west of us, and to neighboring islands of Read, Maurelle, Raza, and Upper Rendezvous. Behind us the forest was alive with bird song; a woodpecker tap-tap-tapped against a decaying snag. Somewhere the deer slept or browsed, for everywhere we walked there was evidence that we were following in their tracks. We stood on a verdant carpet of moss, lichen, and succulents, as beautiful as any Oriental rug, their colors intermingled in shades of green, cream and gray; soft underfoot, it invited us to lie on our backs, close our eyes and bask in the warmth of afternoon sunlight. “Can this be real? Is this really ours?” Incredulous we reach for each other – clasping hands to reassure ourselves that at least we are real.

First Nation Peoples’ myths tell of a “Great Flood” and they call these islands “Drowned Mountains.” In fact the islands are ancient mountaintops surrounded by the sea. Even so, we explore our island as if it were all shiny new, virginal. We feel like explorers, the first to set foot upon the shoreline outcroppings and fern-filled forest floor. But when we look closely, we can see the truncated stumps of giant trees that once stood here before the crosscut saw and chainsaw brought them down early in this century. Nature persists though, and the old scars are already hidden by new growth… new life.

We too feel the healing powers of nature as we nap together cradled on the moss-cushioned ledge of granite. Bob, looking for a way down a rocky bluff, suddenly realizes his fear of heights is gone. He goes over the edge, hands grasping a limb or salal bush, feet seeking a foothold in the rocky face, cautiously - but with no fear - that was gone!

And laughter comes easily. (March 1998)

... PLM

Middle Rendezvous Island

We are moored in Refuge Cove when the realtor notifies us that our offer on 20+ acres of Middle Rendezvous Island has been accepted. He arrives by chartered boat with papers for us to sign. We are elated. Two days later, with frost covering our deck, we leave Refuge Cove. The air is cold but sunny as Chiron sails up Lewis Channel. Everywhere we look there are beautiful snow-capped mountains. We use one as our bearing to take us to Calm Channel, the Rendezvous Islands …and our new island home.

Let me tell you about Middle Rendezvous Island… The Rendezvous Islands consist of North, Middle, and South Rendezvous. They were originally named the Tres Marias (Three Marias) until 1792 when British Captain George Vancouver and Spanish explorer Juan Francisco de la Bodega y Quadra, agreed to meet there in the course of their separate explorations of the Pacific Northwest coast. From that point on, they have been known as the Rendezvous Islands. They are located in Calm Channel on the western edge of Desolation Sound, and are part of a larger group of islands formally known as the Discovery Islands, and informally as the ‘outer islands.’

Middle Rendezvous (pictured above) was Crown Land until 1917, when it was sold to a private owner. There is no ferry service, telephone or other utilities on Middle Rendezvous Island. Transportation is by boat or float plane. Like everyone else out here, we will need to provide our own power and water. Grocery shopping will be done by boat and a trip to the store will depend upon weather and sea conditions. We join a small community scattered over a large area of separate islands… inter-dependence born of necessity. (March 1998)

Discovery Islands

Winter Passage continued…

(January 1998) For several days we explore the tiny community of Heriot Bay on Quadra Island. Winter is a good time to be here. Without the summer tourists, the locals are friendlier and it gives us a better feel for what it might be like to live here permanently. We call David Smith, a Quadra Island realtor, and are told about some property available on one of the outer islands… a small remote island called Middle Rendezvous. Arrangements are made to see the property first hand.

Stefan, a Swiss who owns the 65-acre island, takes us swiftly at 20 to 25 knots in his Daigle aluminum boat. Coming through Whiterock Pass, a narrow doglegged slit between Read and Maurelle Islands, we see the three Rendezvous Islands with a backdrop of snow-clad mountains just beyond Desolation Sound. After days of brutal winter storms, the weather has turned mild. We walk on the west side of Stefan’s property through a deep wooded valley and onto a rock shelf at water’s edge. There is a small, deep bay suitable for moorage, protected by a tiny islet to the south and a rocky point to the north.

The east side of the island is drier, with pine and arbutus trees. Bob and I sit together on a mossy, lichen-covered ledge that overlooks Calm Channel. The silence is profound; the crinkly sound of paper sacks when we reach for an egg-salad sandwich becomes an irritating intrusion. We find ourselves whispering as we talk and wonder – what would it be like to live here? A pair of bald eagles fly close over our heads.

Stefan picks us up and drives the boat around to the north point where Bob and I spend an hour exploring Lot 1, often bushwhacking through immense stands of salal. While most of this northern end consists of dense forest and impenetrable underbrush, there is marvelous outcropping of rock that rises in the center, covered with a thick layer of feathered moss and punctuated by rain filled basins. We can envision a small, enclosed meditation/writing studio on this high point, with views on all sides.

The hour is quickly gone - time for us to return to Heriot Bay. Stefan takes us through Surge Narrows at flood tide. The water is seething with turbulence - some flowing one direction - some going the opposite. The resulting countercurrent causes vast whirlpools to swirl near our boat. I am glad to be in a boat with 150 HP engines.

Entering a small channel near Heriot Bay, we encounter hundreds of loose logs and floating driftwood. There is no way to avoid them, so Stefan just bulls his way through. The combination of headwind, chop on the water, and the boat ricocheting off small logs, makes for a very jarring return trip! Add to that the fact that Stefan’s presence is bigger than life …and best in small doses. By the time we are back on Chiron, I have a headache and Bob feels physically ill. A good night’s sleep puts us in a better frame of mind… and when I look through the porthole the next morning, I can’t believe what I see. The entire bay is smooth, shimmering glass, filled with all the logs that we had dodged in the channel the day before!

... PLM

Remembrance Day

It is a cold, wet day. Sky and water blur with only the faint grey outline of Lummi Island to mark the horizon. It is a somber day, one that is fitting for the occasion. Ninety years ago, on November 11, 1918, an armistice was signed to end World War I. It was not a day for celebration… too many lives had been sacrificed, nearly 30 million soldiers killed or maimed and over seven million taken prisoner. Those who survived were never the same. It was called “the war to end all wars” because no one could imagine such carnage ever happening again. Congress responded to this universal hope by passing a resolution for “a day dedicated to the cause of world peace.”

When we were sailing north in 1997, we happened to be listening to the CBC Radio on November 11. The broadcast was dedicated to what Canadians call “Remembrance Day,” a day that Canadians are asked to pause… on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month… to remember the thousands of men and women who sacrificed their lives fighting for freedom and democracy. The stories, the music, reflecting upon the grief and sadness that war brings to the living... It seemed a better way to commemorate the day than parades and flag waving.

The poem, In Flanders Fields, was written during the Battle of Ypres in 1915, by Canadian Lt.-Col. John McCrae. It was inspired by the sight of red poppies growing beside the grave of a close friend who had died in battle. In 1921, the poppy became the symbol of remembrance in Canada, France, the U.S, Britain and Commonwealth countries.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- John McCrae, 1915

So on this 11th day of the 11th month, let’s rededicate ourselves to the goal of achieving world peace.

... PLM

On the way to chemo...

My chemotherapy appointment was set for two in the afternoon, plenty of time to wander along rural farmland back roads in search of "Squeakers," a trademark item at Appel Farms, a dairy farm that has been producing handmade artisan cheese for thirty years. We had stumbled upon them more than a year ago… today we had real directions – and purpose. We easily found the farm and its cheese shop. They offer 12 Goudas, four cheddars and four fetas. We chose a smoked Gouda, an extra sharp cheddar, and a tub of plain Squeakers, cheese curds that squeak against your teeth as you chew them. Then we set off for BelleWood Acres to find fresh apple cider. We first ran across them – and their Honey Crisp apples and cider - at the Bellingham Farmer’s Market in September. Keeping our eye on the clock we quickly made our purchases, drove back into town, parked in the infusion center parking lot and lunched on Honey Crisp apples and Squeakers. Thus fortified, both physically and in spirit, I faced the needle and another round of chemicals.

… PLM

Something to Live For

I remember one of the late Leroy Sievers postings on his NPR “My Cancer” blog. It was titled, “Reasons to Live.” He wrote, “It may sound silly now, but for me, it was the final Harry Potter book. By God, I was going to stay alive long enough to find out what happened. I think that's pretty common, actually. People set goals for themselves. A birthday, family occasion, holiday, whatever. Some event that they are going to fight to live long enough to enjoy." Larry’s blog first came to my attention in June, right after I learned that I have stage four lung cancer. When he asked, “So what's going to keep me alive? What event on my calendar am I going to mark in red?” I found myself asking the same question.

One of those red marker events has come and gone… the election of Barack Obama to the presidency of the United States. When we moved to Canada in 2006, it was as much for political reasons as for anything else. I felt like a political refugee, fleeing my own country because it had changed so much I no longer recognized it. I did not want to be associated or identified with the Bush administration’s governance of fear; and the nation’s rampant consumerism, anti-intellectualism, and American Idol mentality. I became so discouraged that last fall we traveled across the continent and back, searching for signs of hope for the future. I found little to encourage me and wrote in the November 26, 2007 blog, "I have seen more to be discouraged about than encouraged. I do not belittle the efforts that I have seen to change the direction our country and the world is headed. These are the candles in the night. They shine oh so brightly. But do we have time for those candles to ignite the wildfire needed for change?” Tuesday night I witnessed the wildfire… everyday folks who with their ballots said, “we’ve had enough – it’s time for a change.” The world looks a little brighter today. One newspaper headline called it “A New Morning in America.” And I have lived to see it happen.

Postscript: I would love to be there – in Washington D.C. – when Barack Obama becomes the 44th President of the United States. Do you suppose there is a Make a Wish Foundation for adults? I wish, I wish.

... PLM

We Shall Overcome - Yes We Have

I haven’t been ready until now to write about Barack Obama’s historic presidential victory. There has been too much to digest. We watched the polls close through each time zone on Tuesday with our Internet streaming video of MSNBC Election Center (no TV). We held our breath, afraid to place too much importance on media projections for an Obama victory. The 2000 and 2004 elections did that to us. When it happened – for real – when Senator McCain gave his concession speech, and the Obama family stepped onto the stage at Chicago’s Grant Park to the resounding cheers of hundreds of thousands of people – Bob and I were too choked up to say anything. There were no words, only emotion as we saw Jesse Jackson in the crowd with tears streaming down his cheeks.. The younger generation in our neighborhood, the Western Washington University students, did not cry as we did. The youth did what youth do… scream and holler, and set off firecrackers and rockets. They drove down the streets with car horns blaring. To most of them, this was primarily an election night celebration, one that will bring an end to eight years of the worst presidency in our nation’s history. But for people our age, and especially to people of color who are our age, the election of an African-American man to lead our nation, is so much more.

Growing up in Oregon had isolated me from the Civil Rights Movement, other than what I read in the newspapers. The first black people I ever saw were foreign students from African countries who attended Lewis and Clark College in Portland. That changed in 1961, when I moved to southeastern Texas with my former husband, a chemical engineer, who had just accepted a job in the petrochemical industry. I was astounded to find separate drinking fountains for whites and blacks, restaurants that would not serve black people, and a separate entrance to drive-in theaters where black patrons could only park their cars in the back row. It was through college friends that I learned about the Freedom Riders, and Freedom Marches and the moving words of a protest song that so many voices sang, “We Shall Overcome.” I had just participated in my first presidential election and was horrified to discover that to register to vote in the South, blacks were required to take a “literacy test” that few, if any, white folks could pass.

In 1965, we moved to LaPlace, Louisiana and to the battleground of school desegregation. My sons were in grade school at the start of integration and withstood the abuse from their white counterparts when they made friends with black students – as per their ‘Northwest upbringing’ mom’s instructions. Just having a black girl dance partner in a school production, brought jeers and teasing to my oldest son who was born the same month and year as Barack Obama. No one would have believed then that in our lifetime we would see an African-American president – or perhaps I should say, no white person living in the Deep South could have seen it. But there were those like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. and the thousands of civil rights workers, who dared to dream.

Mark Weisbrot wrote about the Obama victory on the Common Dreams website: Historic it is, most obviously in the election of an African-American president, in a country where millions of black people could not even vote when the new president-elect was born. The rapper Jay-Z elegantly expressed the Obama campaign's connection to the long struggle for equality, along with the enthusiasm that it generated: "Rosa Parks sat so that Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so that Obama could run. Obama's running so that we all can fly."

The opening lines of President-elect Obama say it all: If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. Barack Obama understands the long tortuous road that has taken us from those first courageous Freedom Marchers who marched from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama just for the right to vote.

And he knows how desperately most Americans want to feel proud of our country again. That is what this victory is about. When Obama says “Yes we can,” it renews our hopes and dreams for a better and more just world. As Judith Warner wrote in the New York Times, This moment of triumph marks the end of such a long period of pain, of indignity and injustice for African-Americans. And for so many others of us, of the trampling and debasing of our most basic ideals, beliefs that we cherished every bit as deeply and passionately as those of the “values voters” around whose sensibilities we’ve had to tiptoe for the past 28 years.

There are hard times ahead, but we can all be proud of this historic moment in time. Yes we can.

... PLM

Conversation at the Checkout Counter

A few days ago I was checking out at Haggens, our local supermarket, when I realized that my reusable cloth bags were still in the car. It was raining very hard and I was not about to go back out to get them, so I ended up getting all the food stuffed into plastic bags… pink plastic bags. They were for the Susan G. Komen For the Cure© campaign. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Noble effort, but I was feeling that lung cancer, which has far more victims, was getting slighted. I asked the clerk, “when is Lung Cancer Awareness Month?” He didn’t know. Just as I was ready to leave, he asks, “So when is it?” Ah ha! I didn’t know either. I’m not sure how I get started on some of these disastrous conversations and I’m even less sure how to end them in some really clever way. The best that I could do was to say that one of us should look it up. So I did. Lung Cancer Awareness Month is right now – this month – November. Go to the Lung Cancer Alliance website to find out even more. It’s important. You might get the same checkout clerk.

... Bob

Pumpkins out, Christmas wreaths in

It is November 1, and already the Christmas push has begun, even at the Farmer’s Market where pumpkins are out and evergreen wreaths are in. Of course, there has been Christmas merchandise in the stores since early October… I tried not to look at it but there it was, wrapping paper and tree ornaments right next to the Halloween masks, trick-or-treat pails, and costumes. There was even canned Christmas music playing in the background. I plan to wait until December to get into the holiday spirit even though that can be a little risky. I remember Bob’s and my first Christmas together when we went looking for a Christmas tree a couple of days before Christmas. All of the commercial tree stands were closed, nothing but a few discarded evergreen branches left behind. I was bereft. We finally found a little Charlie Brown tree at the local feed and seed store. The Christmas Spirit was saved.

... PLM