Year in Review... continued

July 2008

July was a month for beginnings and endings. I began the first of many chemotherapy treatments for my lung cancer (photo), and for that reason we made the difficult decision to sell our cabin and property in British Columbia, and move permanently to Bellingham. July was also a month of visits from my two sons, starting on the 4th when Jeff brought us Fourth of July fireworks, and later when Greg flew in from Sedona, Arizona. Greg celebrated his 45th birthday while he was here.

Excerpt from Chapter’s End

Two years ago exactly we packed all our belongings into a U-Haul truck and headed north to this small log cabin in the Skeena River Valley of northern B.C. The time we spent there was immeasurable in its richness of challenges and experiences. Where else could we live side by side with wolves, bears, cougars, and an active beaver pond as our closest neighbor? The Seven Sisters Mountain hovered over our cabin, a protective guardian through all the seasons of the year. We made life long friends and shared their ups and down. Sadly, we must close that chapter of our lives. We have made the hard decision to put our cabin and 123 acres up for sale. (Morningstar)

August 2008

In August my hair fell out. The month also brought the third round of chemo treatments, a trip to Seattle for a second opinion, and a visit from two sisters bearing wild salmon steaks from the Kenai River in Alaska and flats of berries from Oregon. “We have to keep you healthy,” they said. Our cat family grew when we adopted “Meadow,” a longhaired dilute torti. And we moved into our new home, a third floor condo on Garden Street.

Excerpt from Sadness

It is one thing to talk about hope, attitude, and learning to appreciate each and every day. It is quite another to look into the eyes of those close to you and see their worry and fear. It is often I who feels the need to comfort and reassure them. It is easier to be the one with cancer. I will not be the one to suffer when my last day comes. It will be those closest to me who will feel the loss, the grief… the sadness. And if I am sad about anything, it is that. Until I lost my hair I could pass through stores and restaurants with no one the wiser. I still looked “normal.” Now even the waitress looks at me differently… not in a bad way… but with a sad knowing that this woman has cancer. I don’t feel sad, but it is all around me. The only thing for me to do is to smile my brightest, laugh my loudest, and say, “Save your sadness for the many who have never truly lived. I have had a great life.” (Morningstar)

September 2008

The cabin and property in B.C. sold within weeks of putting it on the market. That meant that Bob had to go back and pack everything up. He did it in ten-days. While he was gone, my sister Judy and niece Tamara stayed with me for a week; then my son Jeff came. I completed my fourth round of chemo, and then the decision was made to discontinue the Taxol and carboplatin... they were no longer working. I stayed with the Avastin.

Excerpt from Nothing to Regret

Bob is in Canada, packing two years of cabin living into boxes. His e-mail read, “Guess that a lot got done today, it just seems that there is so much more. But how can I complain when I have mountains wherever I look and deep forests all around.” Our good friend Richard is there too, lending a hand wherever he can.

Kitwanga to Bellingham Update: (September 23) Bob arrived home at 11 o’clock this morning, bearing a box of Tim Horton donuts. After two days of steady driving and 900 miles, he decided to take the rest of the day off. Unpacking will take place tomorrow, with the help of my son Jeff. A big thank you goes to our good friends Richard and Cheryl in Kitwanga, who helped make a big chore a little easier, and sent Bob off Sunday with a full stomach and a Care Package of munchies to eat along the way. These are the kind of people who make the world a better place, and our lives all the richer for them. (Morningstar)

October 2008

With my chemotherapy treatments reduced, there was no need for weekly blood testing... and the stress of moving was behind us. Now we were able to enjoy autumn days filled with Farmer’s Markets, an outing on Chuckanut Drive, and visits with friends. Chiron, the sailing vessel that began our off the grid venturing, was sold to a Canadian from Vancouver Island. And we eagerly dropped our presidential election ballots into the drop box in front of the Whatcom County Courthouse.

Excerpt from Full Circle

They say that the two happiest days in a boater’s life are the day you buy your boat and the day you sell it. Well, we have come full circle… Chiron, our 47-foot sailboat has been sold. I won’t say that it is one of our happiest days. There is a certain sense of loss. Chiron was more than just a boat to us; it represented an adventure, discovery, and a transforming experience. The day we loosened Chiron’s mooring lines and sailed away from the dock was the beginning of a new life. (Morningstar)

November 2008

I don’t know when the countdown begins when you are told that you only have six months to live, but I know that reaching goals big and small takes on new meaning. November marked six months of living since the diagnosis. It was also Lung Cancer Awareness Month, though few people were aware of it! Mostly I was grateful to have lived long enough to see the first African-American elected to the Presidency of the United States. To me and others, Barack Obama represents HOPE for our nation and the world.

Excerpt from 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? (Morningstar)

December 2008

The big story for December was the Arctic blast of cold air that stayed with us for several weeks, bringing to the Pacific Northwest lots of snow, ice, and frigid temperatures. After two winters living in a log cabin in northern British Columbia, it felt more like a winter holiday to us. We loved the snow. It didn’t keep us from driving up Mt. Baker Highway to get our Christmas tree, or to the Nooksack River to view the eagles, or from spending Christmas with our friends on Whidbey Island. On a personal note, the big December event was starting a new designer drug cancer treatment… Tarceva… and discovering its horrendous cost. We also learned that the Avastin infusion I receive every three weeks is even more costly… $10,000 per infusion (thankfully covered by my health insurance). Despite a rash on my face and dry skin, it all appears to be working well and we greet the new year with renewed hope. Happy New Year to all our friends, relatives, and readers of this blog!

Cost of Living

Today we learned that Morningstar’s Tarceva is going to cost $4536.99 (about $151 per pill) for a 30-day supply. Her insurance will only cover a portion, making her co-pay $1874.03 each month. The information came by way of a telephone call from the pharmacist who has become a friend over these past months. When I told Morningstar, her first reaction was disbelief, then tears. “We can’t afford that, for a few more months of life… that’s all that we are buying.” That was her initial position. Wrong. I told her that each day was precious and you can’t put a dollar figure on its worth. After this brief sadness came anger at how unfair our health care system was – how we would find ways around the immediate problem, and we would enjoy whatever time we have. The last dozen years together are a testament to doing things our own way – never backing down because it’s difficult or impractical. Well, that’s us, and we aren’t going to back down now. (Bob)

Later Note: Through the drug company, we were able to find a non-profit organization that will cover my co-pay.
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The Year in Review

I have spent the day looking at a year’s worth of blog postings… our Year in Review for 2008. The one thing I am struck by is the dramatic contrast between the first and second half of the year. It is like “A Tale of Two Lives,” if you will allow me that play on words and titles. But this is no fiction… this is the unexpected drama that real life can bring to our carefully made plans.

January 2008 (Location: Kitwanga, B.C.)

January brought us a new cat. We named him Yu-Ling after an ancient Chinese poet. Yu-Ling enjoyed lying on the windowsill to watch the red squirrel “Dancer.” Much to our dismay, Dancer disappeared one day in January, and never returned. As Bob baked sourdough bread in the Pioneer Maid woodstove, we watched a grey wolf track a moose across the meadow. Temperatures plummeted and we became snowbound for weeks.

Excerpt from One Snowflake in a Blizzard

It’s easy to feel isolated on this Backroad when a heavy snowfall dumps a foot-and-a-half of snow overnight making our road impassable for several days, and an Arctic outflow sends the temperature plummeting to –11 degrees Fahrenheit (-40 with wind chill factor). We have no telephone lines, no cell phone towers, and our emergency battery/hand-crank radio receives only one station, CBC Radio One. When we turn on the radio and hear nothing but static, we know the power is off in Kitwanga, knocking even CBC off the air. So much for the emergency capabilities of our radio to keep us informed! (Morningstar)

Excerpt from Sourdough Bread

Finally my three thermometers average something like 350 F, in goes the bread. That's when we see the wolf. Not much of a sighting but lots of excitement for us. Then a moose appears, looking anxious and coming from the direction where we saw the wolf going. Lots of drama. O.K. I lost track of the bread and the oven temperature. The smell of toasting bread brought me back to an appropriate focus. A quick rescue and it was cooling on the side rack and Morningstar was making the soup. Supper turned out great. Homemade soup and slightly singed sourdough bread and much talk about wolves and moose. (Bob)

February 2008 (Kitwanga)

It had been a month since we had been to town; it was a snowbound month of Arctic outflow temperatures, heavy snow and blizzard conditions that had Bob getting up many times during the night to keep the woodstove burning. It was the month we heard wolves howling nearby and saw their tracks behind the cabin. It was also what I call the “Season of Ice.”

Excerpt from Unexpected Visitor

No one from my past would recognize this woman with a ratty terrycloth bathrobe wrapped around her, standing by the woodstove talking to a neighbor who has just arrived unannounced. Me, with my morning face unadorned, hair that strayed from an untidy braid, and a messy cabin with padded cloths tacked up at the windows to keep out the cold. This would never have happened in that other lifetime when appearances were all important. I doubt I would even have gone to the door looking like I did on that morning last week. But after the initial Oh My! and “Is it too early?” …the slight embarrassment we all felt disappeared. No need to worry about appearances. Out here it is life at the basic level… food, water, warmth, shelter. Danny, in his torn flannel shirt was here to see how we were doing and if we needed more firewood. I'm sure our friend Richard will be checking on us later. (Morningstar)

Excerpt from Let There Be Light

As Bob opened the front door yesterday morning, he called to me and said, “Come listen.” We stood on the steps and heard a wolf howl to our right; then an answering call off to our left. Back and forth. Then silence. In the fast-paced world that we live in, a minute or two doesn’t count for much. But when that minute or two holds within it the wild call of wolves, it is worth a lifetime. It is hard to explain to someone who has never heard wolves in the wild. I have mixed emotions, joy that our lives can include something that is becoming increasingly rare, and sadness that we may be the last to hear that call from the wilderness. (Morningstar)

March 2008

March brought the fifth anniversary of the Iraq War and our series of essays on candlelight vigils, protest marches, and anti-war activism. March also took us back to San Juan Island and the sale of my little wooden boat Båten. And this was the month that we lost our beloved cat Yu-Ling.

Excerpt from Yu-Ling In Memoriam

Yu-Ling died Tuesday, 11 March. We played with him that morning, by afternoon we were digging his grave. He gave no signs of illness or distress. He had been to the vet only a few days earlier. I was carrying him into the cabin when he suddenly cried out and died within moments. Both of us were with him, trying to comfort him as he lay there, but it was like trying to hold water in your cupped hands – we could feel his life slip through our fingers. At least it was quick, a heart attack I think. Yu-Ling was only 11 months old. (Bob)

April 2008 (Kitwanga)

April took us back to our cabin in British Columbia… to cutting and stacking firewood for the next winter, spotting a lynx at the edge of the meadow, and celebrating Earth Day by planting sugar snap peas in the garden.

Excerpt from Signs of Spring

Danny’s old red pickup bumped down our driveway this afternoon. The two black and white farm dogs, Lizzie and Bella trotted along side. The truck pulled a utility trailer full of freshly cut birch. The truck bed was full too. That’s another sign of spring, cutting next winter’s firewood to give it time to dry and season during the warm summer months. Danny (Stephens) stacks the white-barked birch in two rows against the outside wall of the cabin. By fall it will be ready to use in the Pioneer Maid woodstove. (Morningstar)

May 2008

Our second anniversary at the cabin… watching for bears to come out of hibernation and the wildflowers to bloom. Spring came late, delaying the planting of my vegetable garden until just a few days prior to traveling to Bellingham for the doctor’s appt. that would change our lives.

Excerpt from Life Changing Event

May 30, 2008... “I’m afraid this is going to be a life changing event for you.” I have had several life changing events… sometimes I even welcomed them. But when those words come from your physician, it is not something you want to hear. I heard them yesterday after a series of lab tests, chest X-rays, and a CAT scan. And although the diagnosis is not yet clear, it is likely that our life in northern British Columbia will no longer be possible. Tomorrow (Friday, 30 May) I am scheduled for a bronchoscopy and biopsy of my right lung. By Monday afternoon we will have the biopsy report and discuss “next steps.” (Morningstar)

June 2008 (Bellingham, Washington)

The diagnosis, Stage IV Non Small Cell lung cancer… inoperable, incurable. Needing a temporary place to live, we are gifted with Hannah’s cottage, and we welcome Misty, a “rescue cat,” into our hearts.

Excerpt from Just A New Challenge

This blog has been about creating a new life, and as one of our visitors put it, “living outside the box.” It is true that we have never put limits on our endeavors, believing that life is a gift to be lived fully. We’ve had lots of adventures in the twelve years that we have been together… first trekking in war torn Guatemala, then living aboard a sailboat for three years and homesteading on a small B.C. island, and finally our move to an off the grid log cabin in northern British Columbia. Along the way we have also dealt with unexpected health issues… Bob’s diabetes, bladder cancer and five-bypass heart surgery, plus my own back surgery. My diagnosis of lung cancer is just another chapter in that life, another challenge to undertake, and no different than any of the others. (Morningstar)

To be continued tomorrow...

Friendship

A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails …Anonymous

(Portrait by Melanie Hester)

Morningstar as seen through the camera lens of her friend.

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Creativity and Truth

Reading has always been one of the loves of my life, from reading “The Diary of Anne Frank” and Oregon Trail pioneer stories as a young teen, to Barbara Kingsolver novels, P. D. James mysteries, and Mary Oliver poetry. I hate shopping but I can spend hours in a bookstore; and a library just fills my heart with joy. I read to be entertained, informed, inspired, and as an escape from day to day living.

And as is so often the case, I find tidbits of insight in books, just when I need it. Last week I was reading a kind of ho-hum book by Jennifer Chiaverini called “The Cross-Country Quilters.” One of the characters is a master quilter who has been stricken with MS. She has kept that fact a secret, but also has been unable to begin a new quilt for many months. When she finally reveals her MS to a friend, she says, “It’s stolen my creativity along with everything else.” Her words echoed my own thoughts. My life has been defined by creativity… painting, mixed media, interior decorating, gardening, sewing, and photography; working with my hands. Now I feel so limited. In the book, the character’s friend gives her this advice:

“Move on to what you can do. You think your creativity is in your hands. It isn’t. It’s in your heart, your mind, your soul, and until you lose those three, you can never lose your art. You must find some other way to create. You admitted you’re not the same person you were before this disease afflicted you, so stop trying to create the quilts that quilter would have created. Art is supposed to tell the truth. Don’t use your quilts to hide your MS; use your quilts to expose it. Let us see your pain and frustration in every stitch. Let us see how you struggle to make beauty out of your grief. Tell the truth.”

The book itself is far from being a literary masterpiece, but this one page of dialogue alone is a gem for insight. “Move on to what you can do.” I can still write. “Let us see how you struggle to make beauty out of your grief. Tell the truth.” I will try.

Added Note: Speaking of books, the book that is making the rounds of friends and family this Christmas is a heartwarming story about "Dewey, The small-town library cat who touched the world.”

... P. L. Morningstar

Merry Christmas

Christmas 1951, under the tree with sisters and cousins

Christmas 1967, sons Jeff and Greg

Christmas 1969, Reading a Xmas story to my sons.

A Victorian Christmas, 1994

Christmas 1998, Bustopher the Cat

Christmas 2006

Christmas 2008, son Jeff on left.

1952/53

Two of my sisters, Annie and Nancy, with me on the right.

The Sound of Falling Needles… and Gingerbread Men

Last month when we walked through a favorite store, I spotted an artificial Christmas tree decorated with realistic looking gingerbread men. “Oh, I need to get a couple of those for Jeff and Greg.” I then explained to Bob the significance of the gingerbread men.

In the mid-sixties our little family relocated in LaPlace, Louisiana. My sons were five and three years old. The new house had a cathedral ceiling in the family room, just right for a taller than usual Christmas tree, for which we had to drive all the way to Baton Rouge to purchase. I decided to make old-fashioned decorations for the tree and spent numerous evenings stringing popcorn and cranberry garlands. The kids helped out by cutting and gluing paper chains. I baked dozens of gingerbread men, decorated them with icing, and tied them to the boughs of the tree. It was beautiful. Neighborhood children were invited to come see, and each took a gingerbread man home with them.

Then a warm spell struck. This was the Deep South… warmth, also meant humidity. First, the tree began to lose needles. Then the gingerbread men softened, pulled away from their cord ties… boing, boing, plop… dropping from branch to branch, and then onto the floor. I lay in bed at night and listened to the sound of falling needles, and the occasional “plunk.” Oh, oh. There goes another one. It was a race to the finish. Would the tree last until Christmas? Would there be any gingerbread men left “standing”? There is a snapshot in the family photo album… my former husband stands in the backyard, holding up what was left of the Christmas tree after all the presents were unwrapped on Christmas morning. Nothing more than bare branches and brown twigs… and no gingerbread men.

When I handed the newly purchased gingerbread man to my son Jeff a few weeks ago, I said, “Remember the gingerbread men falling off the tree?” No – he didn’t remember that. What he remembered was the new color television set we bought that Christmas season. Oh well, I guess gingerbread men falling to their death (so to speak) is only MY memory.

... P. L. Morningstar

The Homecoming - A Christmas Story

Growing up in southern Oregon, and living in places like the Willamette Valley, Texas and Louisiana, and Washington’s San Juan Islands, there are very few white Christmases in my memory. It looks like I will be adding this one to the short list. We received 6 to 8-inches of new snow last night (see photo). But the snowy Christmas I remember best happened two years ago in British Columbia.

Does anyone remember the old TV program “The Waltons,” specifically the Christmas special, The Homecoming, where the family is waiting for father to come home on Christmas Eve, and there is a raging blizzard going on outside? Well I was reminded of that episode when Bob drove 70-miles into Terrace on Christmas Eve for holiday dinner components that he had ordered at Safeway… and almost didn’t make it back.

Shortly after he left the cabin, snow began to fall and continued with dense flurries all afternoon. Given the unpredictability of weather and road conditions, we always had an understanding that if things looked too bad, we would stay in Terrace rather than take any risk on the return trip, but without a telephone there was no way for Bob to let me know. Just as evening darkness approached and the heavy snow was making me apprehensive about Bob’s return, I saw the Jeep’s headlights coming down the driveway… a welcome sight. With arms full of bags and packages, Bob told me about his drive home. He had come through blizzard conditions, several times having to pull off the road when visibility was reduced to zero… the only car he had seen during the long two-hour drive home was the RCMP (Royal Mounties.) Bob’s biggest worry was that they were going to close the highway. Safely home, we opened presents, drank eggnog, ate cookies, and played a couple of games of Scrabble. All’s well that ends well. I can just hear the voices calling out, “Goodnight John Boy.”

... PLM

Gathering of Eagles

For years I have heard and read about the winter gathering of bald eagles… where you can see as many as 100 eagles perched in streamside trees or feasting on the carcasses of spawned out salmon. It was something I’ve always wanted to see for myself. So yesterday morning I put my two cameras into a day pack along with birding binoculars and a small bag of trail mix; we bundled ourselves up to withstand temperatures in the teens, and set off for the north fork of the Nooksack River.

We weren’t sure where to look for the eagles, only that Deming Homestead Eagle Park was where naturalists sometimes give guided tours. There was only one vehicle in the parking lot when we pulled in, an old pick-up with someone sitting inside. Never shy, Bob goes over and knocks on the window. The guy rolls down his window and the two converse for a while. Bob comes back and says, “He’s a fisherman; getting himself ready to go fishing. Says you can only stand being out there (in the below freezing weather) for about 45-minutes.” The fisherman was a local and told Bob where the eagles were right now, “About 50 of them. Cross the bridge and turn left. There’s a pull off overlooking the river. You’ll probably see other cars there.” Sure enough, there were two vehicles pulled off the road and a couple of men with serious looking camera lenses. More importantly, there were the bald eagles - adult and sub-adult, perhaps some golden eagles, and a few seagulls and ducks thrown in for good measure. A few chum salmon still struggled to swim upstream in the shallow water, but mostly there were the carcasses that the eagles come to feed upon before heading north to their summer homes in Alaska and British Columbia.

... Photos and text by P. L. Morningstar
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Dragonflight - Part Two

As we neared the entry to Whiterock Passage, we slowed and then quickly picked out the first range marker - but where was the second? It was overcast and in low light the second marker was not showing up. The yellow marker lights were not on. Either burned out or it was just not dark enough yet. Seconds went by. Should we turn back? Then there it was. The second marker was back in the dark shadows of the woods, barely visible. I lined them up. Into the passage. Hold the line. To drift off that line meant hitting the submerged rocks that were just to either side of the narrow channel.

Halfway through, just as it seems you are going to go aground on Read Island, you have to look behind you, find two new markers, turn sharply north away from the shore and follow this new line until you exit into Hoskyn Channel. Dragonfly negotiated Whiterock Passage as if it were designed for the purpose.

The small community of Surge Narrows lies immediately at the juncture of Whiterock passage, Hoskyn Channel and Surge Narrows. An old floating dock with a small blue shed serves as both the freight depot and the post office… Canada’s only floating post office. Inside the covered freight area is a bulletin board with notices about a community meeting, a beach-fire ban, a few hand printed business announcements. We stop to talk to a group of kids who are swimming off the dock, “You gotta do it as the tides coming up - it’s warmest then.” Their chattering teeth seem to argue that even at its best, it is something better left to the hardy. Morningstar has other ideas. She turns to me, “Hey, it’s a full moon tonight - why don’t we go skinny-dipping in Dearheart Cove.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No, I’m serious. We could build a fire on the ledge above and dry off and watch the moon rise - maybe stay the night.”

“Morningstar! Those kids were turning blue. Their teeth were chattering. This is daytime and they are at risk for hypothermia and you want us to do it at night? With no clothes?”

“Yes.”

“O.K.”

Surge Narrows Post Office (Photo by Linda Garrison, Campbell River, BC)

The postmistress is in - tending the flowerpots that flank the doorway. “Yes, we’ve got a box available, but I’ll have to tell the last folks to come and take their padlock off - haven’t seen them for awhile.” There is a large pile behind the counter; a stack of canvas bags marked ‘Books by Mail.’ Could it be? “Yes, we have the catalogs here, books and videos - you order them and they come by float plane from the Vancouver Island Library. You get to keep them longer than if you check them out at the main library.” So it seems that if you finally get far enough out, there are in fact some compensating benefits. We browse through the catalogs, which appear to be updated every month.

As we walk up the ramp to the store, we talk about possibly changing our mailing address to this post office. Closer, smaller, and ironically, more services that we can use. The postmistress even sells fresh eggs!

The store itself is freshly painted (at least the front), the deck lined with flowers growing in containers of all sorts. Inside we are struck by how clean, airy and bright it is. The old tall windows let in the sun - it looks like fresh whitewash everywhere. Wood stove in the center. The sound of a generator outside providing the electricity to power the cash register. All the shelves are stocked, the produce fresh, an apparent emphasis on local goods and vegetarian cooking. And books, several that we had been looking for. The selection of hard goods emphasizes island life; ax handles, chainsaw oil, chimneys for kerosene lamps. No sense of catering to the tourist trade.

The store is empty of other customers so we end up talking to Theresa and Doug, the owners. “He’s the gardener - all the flowers and produce are his. The store was originally built in the 20’s, added to in the 40’s. When we purchased the store, it had been closed for 15 years. We’re new at this so if you have any preferences, let us know.” We talk about coffee, fresh bread, homemade ice cream and white chocolate - and laugh together when we discover that these are shared favorites.

We buy some staples, two books, and ask about eggs, which sends their daughter looking for the last dozen. We are introduced to the few people that come into the store. Everyone seems to have at least a few minutes to stop and talk. Theresa and Doug are nice folks. We wish them well and know that we will come here often. As we leave, Theresa tells us about a community meeting that we may want to attend.

Outside, at the top of the ramp, a very small, very young boy is leaning over a wooden rail eating something in a foil wrapper. He mournfully tells us, it is “melting.” He offered it for our inspection and we commiserated with him but remained unsure of what exactly it was that was melting. Then he looks up at me and for a moment, across a gap of some half-century of experiences, I share with him the emergent understanding, and the sadness, of the impermanence of things.

Walking back down the ramp, purchases in hand, we decide that this is the kind of community that we had been looking for. We stop at the small shed on the dock and sign up for that last post office box. (written July 1998)

... Bob

Dragonflight

More from “Winter Passage”
After purchasing 20-acres on Middle Rendezvous Island, a floating dock was quickly built for Chiron in the small deep bay on the west side of the island. We began to work with an architect on plans for a permanent house. Meanwhile we realized that we needed a small, fast boat to take us into Heriot Bay for grocery shopping and picking up mail. After lots of research, Bob decided upon a 15-foot Dauntless series Boston Whaler with a 50 hp Honda outboard. We named her “Dragonfly.” Bob wrote about our first experiences with Dragonfly in our newsletter to friends and family…

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…. Dragonfly was everything we expected it to be and more. What we didn’t expect was the way that it reflected the changing patterns of our lives. On 5 July, Chiron towed Dragonfly from Campbell River to its new home on Middle Rendezvous Island.

The next day we took Dragonfly into Heriot Bay for groceries and mail, covering the distance in minutes rather than hours. We gained swift passage, ease of mooring at the tourist-crowded docks, the ability to shop and return in a small part of the morning instead of committing a whole day to the venture. In turn we lost some of the wonderful gracefulness of a sailing yacht in passage. We were accustomed to counting eagles along Whale Passage, talking to the seals that came alongside, going below to make fresh coffee and sandwiches to share with the helmsman, listening to classical music, the luxury of a stove burning in the salon to warm you on rainy days, and of course, the company of cats. But Dragonfly is swift. Now we move at five-fold Chiron’s gentle 7-knot pace.

A week or so later, we were running low on drinking water and I needed to find a place to fill Chiron’s tanks. I decided to take Dragonfly north through the Yuculta Rapids to Big Bay on Stuart Island and see what was available. In less than half an hour I ran the rapids and whirlpools and felt very confident of Dragonfly’s seaworthiness as I docked at Big Bay Marina. Lots of big motor yachts, mostly U.S. designations. Very upscale looking crowd in souvenir tee shirts confirming that they had in fact made it this far north. As I stepped to the dock, I unclipped my VHF radio and called Morningstar on channel 09.

“Chiron, Chiron, Chiron - this is Dragonfly. Over.”

“Dragonfly, this is Chiron. Over.”

“Well, I’m here. I’ll check the store and water situation and head back shortly. Skies getting dark. Over.”

“Roger - I’ll be waiting. Over.”

“Dragonfly out.”

As I started along toward the Marina Store people called to me from their boats, and I realized from their comments and questions that they were treating me as a local - asking my advice on dealing with these rapids and understanding the weather. It was a feeling that had been evolving since our trip to Refuge Cove and Morningstar had noted that we had been pointed out and photographed as we walked along the docks. We had become the ‘color’ in other folk’s vacation snapshots!

Today, here in Big Bay I could distinctly sense the differences as I walked with purpose through the boaters that idled here, drinks in hand, waiting out the weather in this Tupperware haven. These were the summer people. The tourists. And they looked the part. I reached the store and as I stuck out my hand to open the door, I stopped. There was my image darkly reflected back at me. Long gray hair, shoulder length. Face burned dark by the sun and wind, lean now. Dressed in my bright yellow foul weather jacket, safety harness with radio clipped to the webbing, shorts and Tevas. And I had just come through the Yuculta Rapids against the current. Hell yes! He’s a local.

The Big Bay Marina Store struck me oddly. Immediately inside the entrance was a well-stocked liquor agency and to the right, a gift area which was the source of the self-conscious tee-shirts, ubiquitous ‘Scenic BC’ postcards and the usual coffee table books for the functionally illiterate. But the food store itself was poorly stocked and the refrigerator cases more than half-empty. What was there looked pretty sorry. Two forlorn loaves of bread represented the baked goods. This was mid-July and I had expected substantial provisions. Around the other side was a large area dedicated to the espresso minded. Expensive flavored blends for those who haven’t learned to drink real coffee yet. I had to assume that this choice of supplies reflected the tastes of those who inhabited the marina, however briefly. I was rapidly developing a pretty dismal view of this place and its transient population. Forget the water. Time to leave.

Returning to Chiron, I explained what had happened at Big Bay and then talked Morningstar into coming with me on one more Dragonfly trip while the weather held. We had both wanted to visit the new store at Surge Narrows. It was only a short distance from Middle Rendezvous Island, but it lay on the other side of Whiterock Passage. Morningstar was understandably a little hesitant. Currents can roar through Surge Narrows at 16 knots, and up to 14 knots on the ebb. It is considered one of the fastest-flowing and most dangerous tidal streams in the world.

Whiterock Passage has claimed its share of boats but we had already done it months ago in Chiron and now I was proposing to run it in Dragonfly, an altogether more suitable boat. We had been reading the ads posted all over the area (as far west as the bulletin board in the Laundromat at Campbell River Marina) that announced that the store was open and operating “seven days a week, 9 am till 9 pm.” It seemed like a good antidote to the Big Bay experience. So we went. (written by Bob - July 1998)

To be continued…

Only Yesterday

A trip to buy Christmas cards and mail packages inspired the following poem. Such small pleasant tasks… and yet they left me unsteady on my feet, muddle-headed, and fatigued beyond belief. I shook my head. How can this be? It wasn’t all that long ago that I was an active, go-for-it person. I’ve gone from vibrant to enfeeble in a matter of months.

Blessings, blessings, blessings. I repeat that to myself many times a day as a reminder to look for the good things in my life. The snow that continues to fall over Bellingham is a beautiful thing; the bald eagle I can see circling overhead as I write this posting; Tarceva, my new drug treatment that brings a renewal of hope; and through the drug company we may have found an organization that will assist us in covering the extremely high cost of co-pay. Blessings.

ONLY YESTERDAY

Not so long ago I whacked out brush
Cleared the streambed
Trimmed branches from the hemlock
And fir… and
Hauled it all up a steep bank

I dug deep in the garden
Added compost to the soil
Squatted between rows to
Plant seedlings and onion sets
Not so long ago

Now I hold a cane
Hang tightly to Bob’s arm
The dizziness comes and goes
Go slow - I must catch my breath
I’ll stay here
You go
I’m too tired.

... P. L. Morningstar

Mail Run to Friday Harbor

Wednesday morning… snow is falling heavily outside. With all of our windows, it is like being inside a snow globe. A friend of ours has written to say that he wants more stories from “Winter Passage,” so here is one appropriate to the weather outside.

One of the early difficulties we encountered during our northward passage was how to get mail while moving from port to port. While in the San Juans during the fall of 1997, we had picked up our mail through general delivery. By January 1998 we were moored in Montgue Harbor on Galiano Island, a long way from the Friday Harbor post office. We were forced to make a two-day trip by ferry to get our mail. Unfortunately that meant leaving Bustopher and Sammy, our two furry crewmembers behind with the boat…

We are up by 5 AM… dressing quickly and preparing the boat for our two-day absence. Sammy and Bustopher look at us suspiciously… they know we are leaving. I arrange the satin comforter on the salon settee, a cozy nest for two cats. I fill a large bowl with water and another with dry cat food. I never like leaving my cats alone like this, but it is the only solution we can think of.

The early morning air is frigid and Bob cautions me, “Be careful. There’s ice on the deck.” In the dark, we climb down Chiron’s boarding ladder and into the dinghy. A million stars fill the sky as Bob rows across Montague Harbor towards the marina dock. He wears a red down jacket and wool knit cap pulled down over his ears. He rows with powerful strokes, each one bringing us closer to the marina. There is a primeval quality to the sound of the oars rhythmically dipping into and out of the water, pushing the boat through the morning darkness. As Bob rows he calls out, “There’s a falling star.” Turning to look, I am too late to see it. I hug myself to stay warm.

Nearing the dock, I can see headlights and hear the honk of the taxi we have arranged to meet us. Leaving Bob to secure the lines, I quickly climb out of the boat and hurry up the frosty dock ramp to let the driver know we are here. A 10-minute taxi ride takes us from winter-quieted Montague Harbor to the bustle of Sturdies Bay ferry landing at the south end of Galiano Island.

The ferry arrives like some alien spaceship with a blaze of lights that illuminates the predawn bay. As it approaches the landing, the sound of strong pulsating throb is lost in a din of churning waters and engine reversal. The loading ramp drops with a resounding thud and crewmen tie off bulky mooring lines to the dockside cleats. We board with a handful of passengers, heading en masse toward the coffee machine. With hot coffee cups in hand, we sit and watch the sun rise during our crossing to Vancouver Island’s Schwartz Bay. A dusting of snow covers all the island mountains that we pass.

At Schwartz Bay we catch Bus 70 to Sidney where we board the “Elwah,” a Washington State ferry. By 2 pm, we are in Friday Harbor, contracting with Post San Juan (a private postal service) to forward our mail to us from now on. All we need to do is call them and tell them where to send it… no more two-day mail runs like this one. Tomorrow we reverse today’s journey by ferry, bus, taxi, and dinghy – back to Chiron and probably, two pissed-off cats!

Montague Harbor

Arriving back at Galiano Island before 5 pm, we find the dinghy still tied to the Marina fuel dock where we had left it yesterday, but now it is coated with a thin glaze of ice. With the last dim light of day, we row back to Chiron. Bob opens the hatch and in the beam of our flashlight we can see two little kitty faces looking back at us. Everything is very cold… the cats have tipped over their water bowl, and their once overflowing food bowl is now empty. Bob gets busy turning on the propane and diesel heaters – trying to get some heat back into the boat. I take the cats aft to the stateroom, which has warmed quickly with the Cozy Cabin propane heater. We’re glad we won’t have to leave the cats alone on board anymore. But will they forgive us? I hope they have short memories.

Chiron on the hook – This is a winter I will not forget, when light and warmth can no longer be taken for granted. As outside temperatures plummet, I cannot turn up a thermostat, or leave lights on to brighten the winter night. I cannot warm myself with a long, hot shower. But despite these things, I am not writing about enduring hardships. Rather, I write about learning to appreciate one small light to read by, hot water to rinse my face, the warmth of the diesel stove, and a pot of freshly-brewed tea. Life on the hook, whether attached to a mooring buoy or swinging at anchor, is a lesson on conservation and self-sufficiency that has forever changed the way I live. (Written January 1998)

Indeed, we were changed. Our experiences on Chiron prepared us for living off the grid in the Great White North. And maybe it prepared us for this too… living with cancer. Simplifying life, reducing it to the basics, to what is important.

... P. L. Morningstar

Great White North

This area is experiencing an Arctic cold front. Temperatures are predicted to dip to 10-degrees by morning. It may snow again Tuesday through Wednesday. Meteorologists say that this may be the longest cold spell in western Washington since 1990. However, it’s nothing compared to our first winter in the great white north. That was an extraordinary winter for us, and one for the B.C. record books. The Arctic outflow in late November 2006, was the earliest extreme-cold temperatures since 1896, and the heaviest November snowfall on record. After it was all over I wrote:

I think we have passed some kind of test. No one is asking us anymore if we are going to head south for the winter. I imagine a few of the locals have lost bets on our staying power; thinking that anyone from south of the border is a hothouse flower sure to succumb to the first touch of cold. Winter has not officially arrived, yet we have already survived a full-blown Arctic outflow that sent temperatures plunging to twenty-two degrees below zero, and with four to five feet of snow on the ground. Weather forecasts included wind-chill data, and warnings about being outside. Neither of us has ever experienced cold like this, or knew what to expect.

When the frigid Arctic air swooped down, the creek froze, turning the dam and intake filter into a crystal waterfall covered in frozen snow. Bob made many trips to the dam, trying to break up the ice with a metal rod, ending up with frostbite on two fingertips (now healed). The farther below zero the temperature fell, the harder it became to keep the cabin warm. The woodstove couldn’t keep up with the loss of heat through the single pane windows and drafts. Just the act of opening the front door would drop the inside temperature by several degrees. I tacked plastic to the inside of the back windows, and pinned wool blankets over the other windows at night. I rolled a flannel blanket in front of the door to cut off the cold draft. We put on wool long johns; even wore them to bed.

We took turns throughout those nights, getting up to keep the fire going. Even so, the cabin’s one water pipe froze and we had to resort to melting snow for water. First we set a couple of buckets of snow in the bathtub, expecting it to melt – it didn’t! So we filled large kettles with snow and put them on the woodstove, yielding about an inch of water for each kettle of snow. Thank goodness we had the outhouse to use, a little nippy at twenty-two below zero… three sides, no door, moose antlers for decoration… but with a beautiful view of snow-draped trees. We shared it with Tucker, the red squirrel who uses the roof rafters for one of his food caches.

After six waterless days we resorted to driving sixty miles to check into a motel, where we luxuriated in hot showers, ordered pizza, and watched a little TV before returning to the cabin by nightfall. We always had power (our own), even when Kitwanga didn’t, and eventually we got the water pipes thawed out. (written December 2006)

There are times when public utilities and conveniences come in handy. Here in Bellingham we don’t have to get up in the middle of the night to keep the fire burning in our natural gas fireplace, and there is no need for melted snow water or an outhouse. But I wouldn’t have missed that northern experience for the world. It tested us well… and what memories!

... P. L. Morningstar

First Snow

We have snow! It began yesterday at about 6 in the evening. It brings back all the memories of our first winter in northern B.C. That year the first snow occurred before Halloween and we didn’t see the ground again until March. I have never become inured to snow. In the past it has always been a delightful but temporary event. That first winter in the cabin, with every day a “snow day,” I was inspired to write daily about SNOW. This led to a chapbook called “Season of Snow,” and the poem “First Snow.” I don’t really consider myself a poet… but this poem just seemed to write itself. I entered it in the Terrace Public Library poetry contest held in conjunction with National Poetry Month. I won.

FIRST SNOW

It came quietly while I slept
In the cold dark hours of night;
A gathering of frozen droplets
High above the cabin and
Mountains near.
They took their time,
Transformations always do
But there were those
Impatient to begin
And if I had been looking
I would have seen them
Drifting softly to the ground
Ephemeral loners, one here, one there
Soft, white crystalline flakes
Disappearing on a stalk of dried grass
Out of sight on the shingle roof
It takes more than one
To change the world


And in a rush
They came
In drifts and flurries
To dust the trees with powder
Cover the frozen ground,
And the jumbled pile of cedar logs
Like icing on a cake.
When I opened my eyes
In the first dim light of morning
Everything had changed
Yesterday’s bare birch branches
Now sparkled, interwoven
Like a fine filigree lace
Evergreen boughs dipped low
Under the weight of October snow
Hiding the unsightly
From my eyes
Hushed in a blanket
Of pristine white,
Autumn turned to winter
In the space of a night

...P. L. Morningstar

Coyote Serenade

What a difference a year makes…
Getting our Christmas tree in northern B.C.

A week before Christmas we set out to find our Christmas tree, hiking along the deserted Cedarvale back road. We walked carefully, the light dusting of snow over ice made for treacherous footing, but revealed animal tracks that we had fun identifying… red squirrel, moose, fox and wolf. It was a silent world except for our own conversation. Then we heard the yip howl of a coyote off in the distance. Soon another answered, and then another. This haunting coyote serenade accompanied us as we searched the forest edges for our tree. About a mile from the cabin we found a tree that we liked, and Bob cut it down with the pruning saw. Snowflakes began to fall in the winter twilight, dusting our jackets and wool caps as we brought the tree home, leaving behind our own tracks in the snow plus the trailing tip of our tree.

The tree now stands next to the wooden stairs, a colorful quilt at its feet; a garland of red velvet ribbon tumbles from one green branch to another. Gingerbread hearts and paper snowflakes dangle from boughs illuminated by the tiny candle lights that glow softly on log walls and ceiling beams. The tree itself fills the cabin with the fragrance of forest and snowdrifts, and still tingles with the wild notes of a coyote song. (Journal entry from a past Christmas.)

... P. L. Morningstar

WINTER STORM WATCH:

AN ARCTIC COLD FRONT WILL MOVE SOUTH THROUGH WESTERN WASHINGTON ON SATURDAY...PULLING IN MUCH COLDER AIR IN ITS WAKE. THE FRONT WILL FIRST ARRIVE OVER THE NORTH INTERIOR EARLY IN THE MORNING...WHERE FRASER OUTFLOW WINDS WILL PICK UP ON SATURDAY MORNING...BRINGING IN VERY COLD AND VERY WINDY CONDITIONS. AS THE FRONT SLIPS FURTHER SOUTH DURING THE DAY WITH UNSETTLED CONDITIONS CONTINUING... SNOW ACCUMULATIONS OF 1 TO 3 INCHES ARE POSSIBLE FOR MUCH OF THE LOWLANDS ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON AND EVENING. THE BOTTOM LINE IS THAT WESTERN WASHINGTON SHOULD EXPERIENCE THE COLDEST WEATHER IN A COUPLE OF DECADES DURING THE WEEK AHEAD. PLEASE BE PREPARED FOR AN UNUSUALLY PROLONGED AND INTENSE PERIOD OF WINTER WEATHER.

What could be better? Our plans for today were to drive out the Mount Baker Highway, and select a tree from one of the Christmas Tree Farms that line the road. The last couple of years, we have just trudged through the snow on our own property and cut a likely candidate. Going to a grocery store and picking one of the bailed trees that lean against the garden shop walls seemed too tame. I at least wanted to go to the source if we couldn’t cut our own.

People have been talking about the winter storm warnings since Tuesday. It was only pouring rain when we left this morning, but possible snow was predicted by afternoon, also high wind and freezing temperatures. I guess a lot of folks would have opted out on driving towards Mount Baker on a day that could turn real nasty. We had the opposite reaction. After two years of northern B.C. winters, we wanted to see snow again, and we weren’t disappointed… while filling the car at the Nooksack Reservation, snowflakes began to fall and flurries continued the further east we drove. Bob put the Jeep into four-wheel drive and began to sing Christmas songs… amazing what a little snow can do. We stopped at the Red Mountain Christmas Tree Farm, and chose a 7-foot noble fir. It was shaken, bailed, and tied onto the roof of our Jeep. It now stands in its place of honor, in front of the Palladian windows, miniature lights the only decoration. Jeff will leave in the morning – trying to get out before the Arctic front finally arrives.

Hanging on while the tree gets shaken.

Tying the tree down.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

... PLM

Cost of Living

Today we learned that Morningstar’s Tarceva is going to cost $4536.99 (about $151 per pill) for a 30-day supply. Her insurance will only cover a portion, making her co-pay $1874.03 each month. The information came by way of a telephone call from the pharmacist who has become a friend over these past months. When I told Morningstar, her first reaction was disbelief, then tears. “We can’t afford that, for a few more months of life… that’s all that we are buying.” That was her initial position.

Wrong. I told her that each day was precious and you can’t put a dollar figure on its worth. After this brief sadness came anger at how unfair our health care system was – how we would find ways around the immediate problem, and we would enjoy whatever time we have. The last dozen years together are a testament to doing things our own way – never backing down because it’s difficult or impractical. Well, that’s us, and we aren’t going to back down now.

... Bob Weimer

A Favorite Holiday Story

At this time of year, when I hear Salvation Army bells ringing and see cars driving past with evergreen trees tied to their rooftops, I start to remember favorite holiday stories. I wrote about one in our book, “Winter Passage.” We were moored in Sidney Harbor on Vancouver Island for the holiday season…


Here it is, five days until Christmas – usually my favorite time of the year, but for whatever reason the Christmas spirit eludes me. There is something missing. Bob asked if I miss my Victorian house, with candles glowing in the windows, a collection of antique ornaments on a 12-foot tree, cedar garlands and red-berried holly decorating the front porch. I consider that for a moment and decide – no, it’s not the house that I miss. I think it is the little things like baking Christmas cookies.

Every Christmas for over thirty years, I have made the same sugar cookies using the same cookie cutters …a tree, a holly wreath and a star; decorating them with colored icing, sprinkles and red cinnamon candies. They have gone to school for homeroom parties, filled a cut glass tray for open houses, or presented on saran-wrapped paper plates to next-door neighbors. When my sons were young, they helped decorate them, eating as many of the cinnamon candies as they put on the cookies. And later I shared this family tradition with my granddaughter Shelley. She was a little more meticulous than her father, but ate just as many cinnamon candies. So while I lay in bed this morning, a sudden thought occurred to me… why not bake some Christmas cookies?

Since none of my baking supplies are here on the boat, our mission today was to get everything needed to make my favorite Christmas tree cookie. I decided that the simplest way to do it would be to use refrigerated Pillsbury cookie dough and a can of frosting. We try three grocery stores and none of them have the refrigerated cookie dough. So I need to make them from scratch after all, but after 30 years of making these cookies, I can’t remember the recipe. At a used bookstore I find a cookbook for cookies and quickly jot down the ingredients for sugar cookies on a scrap of paper.

Back at the grocery store we find canned frosting, green food coloring and green sprinkles without difficulty. But the Christmas tree cookie cutter and red cinnamon candies are another matter. Everywhere we go we are told they are sold out of Christmas tree cookie cutters. Finally at a little drugstore a clerk says, “Just a minute. I think we may have one left. Here it is.” She holds out a package of four plastic Christmas shapes, one of which is a tree. I hate plastic cutters, but at this point I have no choice and the package only costs a dollar. We leave the store with my cookie cutter.

Now for the red cinnamon candies. Six stores later… the clerk at the 7-11 Store says, “No, we don’t have them but the Candyman Store might.” She calls the local candy store for us, and yes, they do have red cinnamon hearts. We thank the clerk and hurry to the Candyman. “We are the people who want the cinnamon hearts.” “Oh yes, here they are. How many do you want?” While one clerk weighs out our candy hearts, another offers us some freshly baked shortbread, “Anyone who comes all the way from the 7-11 deserves a treat!” The 7-11 wasn’t that far away!!
But we don’t turn down the shortbread.

We pass a florist shop and decide to stop in and buy some holly. They have only one bag left – sort of bedraggled – and the owner says, “Just take it… no charge. Merry Christmas.”

We have met kind, thoughtful and helpful people all day long. That is the true Christmas spirit. The Christmas tree cookies I bake will only be a reflection of that spirit. (December 1997)

A year later a package arrived from my sister Nancy… a box holding ten packages of red cinnamon candies.

... P. L. Morningstar

Designer Drugs

We were both anxious to meet with my oncologist this morning. We already knew that the CT scan showed a very slight enlargement of the tumor, now we wanted to know what change in treatment plan lie ahead. I had been double-booked to squeeze me into a full schedule. Even so, my oncologist took time to discuss the results of the scan (even showed it to us), and laid out all the options, and allowed me to decide. Since the growth is so small and hard to define, the Avastin I have been taking is worth continuing. At the same time I will begin taking Tarceva, another targeted “designer” drug. It is in pill form and seems to be most effective for women non-smokers. The most common side effect is a skin rash… experienced by 66% of Tarceva patients. The main goal for Tarceva is to increase survival. “In a large clinical study, 31.2% of patients taking Tarceva were living with their NSCLC (non-small cell lung cancer) one year after they started Tarceva, compared with 21.5% of patients not taking Tarceva (placebo). That’s a 45% increase in one-year survival.” The drawback? Cost. And is it worth the cost to increase a person’s life by a few months? That is a big controversy now.

I don’t know yet what the cost will be to me. I have a good insurance plan. The nurse and pharmacist say they have to go through a lot of hoops before I will know. But I got a fancy little Tote Bag with the Tarceva patient starter kit, which includes “a Tarceva magnet to post on your refrigerator as a handy reminder to take Tarceva every day, A hat to protect your skin from the sun, Face serum and body lotion to help moisturize your skin,” and a compartmentalized pill container. We’re talking about the Rodeo Drive of cancer drugs. Is it worth it? I don’t know. Read the December 8th New York Times letter to the editor, Cost of Living: Who Gets New Drugs?

... P. L. Morningstar

Counting Blessings

When times are bleak it is often hard to believe that there is anything to be grateful for. It was pretty much like that when my 35-year marriage ended, my mother died, and I became estranged from my sisters. So I began a nightly ritual of counting my blessings, no matter how small. It had two benefits… like counting sheep, it helped me to fall asleep; more importantly I became a better observer of the good things that happen but are easily overlooked… like a friend’s phone call or the first hummingbird to arrive in the spring. Soon I found myself looking for things that I could add to my nightly count. When a clerk smiled and complimented me on my new earrings, I thought, “That’s a good thing for me to count tonight.”

So this morning when I heard Bob snoring softly by my side, I was reminded of those days and nights when I needed to be reassured that good things still happen all around me. In many ways, having Bob with me is a miracle. In 2001 he was diagnosed with bladder cancer. The tumor was removed and he received BCG treatments. The cancer has not returned. In 2005, he successfully underwent five-bypass open-heart surgery. And here he is - a real survivor - snoring by my side. When I count my blessings tonight, he will be first on my list. (photo: Bob and me when I had hair.)

Rainbow over Bellingham this morning.

... PLM

The Spirit is Willing, but…

I’m in trouble when WANT TO and NEED TO won’t match up with my energy level. It’s like a car with a dead battery… the engine just won’t go. That’s how I felt today. We managed to make a brief trip to the Farmer’s Market, and then to Fairhaven for African peanut soup at the Colophon. Even found a lovely Christmas wreath made from Oregon manzanita, to put on the front door. But the planned outing to the community tree lighting ceremony proved to be one thing too many. Jazz music on the radio and a fire in the fireplace won out over standing in a crowd on a rainy night. In truth, I was just too tired to leave the sofa. Later Bob drove me past the community tree, all ablaze in blue lights and topped with a golden star. We can even see it from our third story windows. Life is good.

Today at the Farmer's Market

... PLM

Waiting

How much of human life is lost in waiting. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I guess we were being unduly optimistic when we thought I would get a call from the doctor’s office when the results of my CT Scan were available. The scan had been performed because of my concern that the tumor was growing again. The doctor when reviewing my concerns also considered the possibility of a pulmonary blood clot. Of course we would be called. We anxiously waited the outcome for two days and when we had heard nothing by this morning we knew we had to do something about it ourselves. The weekend was coming up and we had no more time to waste. Bob called the nurse’s hotline. She found the radiologist’s report sitting in my folder. The nurse read some of the results to Bob over the phone… no pulmonary blood clot is the good news, but the tumor has grown slightly. The nurse said the doctor would probably discuss it with me at the next scheduled appointment. That appointment was scheduled before I began to experience troubling symptoms, and wouldn’t be until the 22nd of December. My chemo had been put on hold until we knew what was happening with the tumor. With advanced lung cancer no one can afford to wait when the tumor starts growing again. When pressed, we managed to get an appointment scheduled with my oncologist for this coming Monday. But the nurse warned me that I needed to be prepared to wait because that appointment time is now double booked. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote takes on added meaning for me when every day counts.

... P. L. Morningstar

Another Day

The day began with frost and a brilliant blue sky. When I look out my windows I am used to seeing a flock of pigeons down at the corner by the Presbyterian Church, or seagulls and crows battling for their favorite spot on the neighboring rooftops. I do not expect to see six or seven men perched on the ridge of the Victorian house near us, as I did today. It appears that a re-roofing job is in progress and these men were hired to remove the old shingles. The house is three stories high and situated on a steep hillside… a long way down.

While organizing and pulling together some twelve years worth of writing, I ran across a journal entry that described the painful confinement I was experiencing in 2004, prior to back surgery. In many ways it mirrors my thoughts at this moment, though blessedly I have no pain.

A SMALL DARK PLACE

The world once so expansive is now like looking into the wrong end of a telescope. My world is reduced to the house, a room, the loveseat I lie upon. My best friends are cats, books, Bob, and little white pills that promise to banish the pain, but rarely do so. Oh they work for a little while, but I try to ration them instead of using them instead of using them freely, so instead of being pain free, I hang on the edge.

How can anyone live like this? It is not living – only existing. The bare essentials of life… eating, sleeping, breathing. Bob cares for me. He cooks, brings me everything I need, takes me for an outing at least once a week. He makes it all bearable.

Soon I will be undergoing back surgery and this phase of my life will be behind me, but I won’t forget the frustration, the boredom, and the feeling of being powerless… the loss of all the things that give meaning to my life.

I am working on the book, “A Winter Passage.” It brings back memories of our voyage into British Columbia six years ago. In some ways it is hard for me to be putting so much of my time into writing about something that happened years ago. Then there was something to write about every day, and my journals were full to overflowing. I want something to write about today. I want to have new experiences, new challenges, see new things. I don’t want to just relive old memories. (Sept. 2004)

A month after I wrote this I had minimally invasive back surgery, and it was 100 percent successful. It gave my life back to me. I could garden and hike and dance. And I could move to Canada to live in a log cabin on 123-acres of wilderness. Hopefully my current situation will only be a temporary setback like that one, and there are new adventures yet before me.

I have not received a report on my latest CT scan yet. But the day ended with this spectacular sunset.

... P. L. Morningstar

Too Many Words

Words, words, words. Hundreds of thousands. There are pages stacked all over the living room. WINTER PASSAGE resides in two three-ring binders. There are mini-books about my adventures in Båten… IN SEARCH OF SOLITUDE and TEN DAYS ON A SMALL BOAT, chap books… SEASON OF SNOW and ROAD TO THE CABIN. The stack of papers on the coffee table represents our LOOKING FOR HOPE cross country road trip; a folder on the floor holds my most recent writing about lung cancer; Bob sits reading the many pages that describe our two years living off the grid in northern B.C., much of which has been posted to this blog. Wolf and cougar sightings, black bears sitting in the crab apple tree, blizzards and floods, chopping firewood and baking bread, silence.

Soon after Bob and I became involved, he said to me, “I want you to write our story.” And so I have… in journals, notebooks, on scraps of paper, newsletters, and blogs. Now it is time to put it all together. So we are organizing and brainstorming about how best to present twelve years of living outside the box. Mozart’s music was once described as having “too many notes.” I don’t claim any comparison with Mozart, but right now I am inundated with “too many words,” and wondering what to do with them all.

... P. L. Morningstar

A Chance to Witness History

I really believed it might happen… that I would be there in Washington D.C. watching history being made. I sent a request for two tickets to my Representative’s office several weeks ago and received this reply: “Residents of Washington’s 2nd Congressional District who submit a request to my office by 5:00 PM PST on Wednesday, November 26th will be eligible to participate in a ticket lottery. Each party will be eligible for two tickets maximum. The results of the lottery will be announced via e-mail on Monday, December 1st.”

I’m not normally lucky with things like this. Games of chance and lottery draws are what other people win... not me. But this time was going to be different. I even went to the official 2009 Inaugural website to get information on where the swearing in would take place and arrival times… Arrive early for required security screening and anticipate large crowds. Gates to the Inaugural Ceremony open at 9 a.m. and the musical prelude begins at 10 a.m. Be prepared to pass through several security screenings before reaching the section indicated on your ticket. And what kind of seating will be available… The Swearing-in Ceremony is an outdoor event held on the West Front Lawn of the U.S. Capitol. Inauguration day is typically cold—normally 37° F at noon—and occasionally wet. A vast majority of attendees will be in standing room sections and should be prepared to be on their feet for several hours. It wouldn’t be easy, but I knew I could do it. I eagerly waited to get my e-mail notification. It came at 10 a.m.

“Each Member of Congress will be allotted a limited number of inauguration tickets to distribute to constituents. Over the past few weeks my office has received 870 requests.

This morning my office held a lottery for tickets to the Presidential Inauguration. Unfortunately, you were not selected to receive a ticket. I will keep your request on a waiting list and you will be contacted if tickets become available.”

Disappointment? Yes. But I tried.

... P. L. Morningstar