Welcome to Bellingham

Bob’s sister Tracy arrived in Bellingham late Wednesday night, despite ice storms, mechanical failures, and cancelled flights. Airline travel is not what it used to be… no more comfy pillows or blankets, no movies, and you have to pay extra for food. But she arrived safe and sound, and what fun to have her here, and to show her around. Village Books and Fair Trade Haven in Fairhaven, Avenue Bread Company for lunch, Little Cheerful for the best breakfast in town, and a drive in the country in search of bald eagles. (Tracy spotted three.)

Thursday, while driving through old town, we stumbled upon the first annual “Project Homeless Connect.” Within a one-block area around the YWCA and Farmer’s Market building there was a mobile dental clinic, a free spay and neuter clinic for pets, and much more. As the Bellingham Herald reported, Hundreds turned out Thursday, Jan. 29, to cut hair, fix bicycles and cook lunch while others cleaned teeth, checked eyes and dispensed antibiotics during the first Bellingham/Whatcom County Project Homeless Connect in Bellingham. Up to 800 of the needy were helped by the one-day event. Thank you Bellingham. What better way to show the heart of this community to a visitor?

... P. L. Morningstar

Commitment

Bob and I have been together since 1996. I say “together” because we have never married. Oh Bob has proposed all right. Numerous times. It is I who have resisted. After having a 35-year marriage come to an end, I was more than a little skeptical about how much a marriage license really means when it comes to commitment. “It’s just a meaningless piece of paper,” I told him. But I did agree to a commitment ceremony, which we held in the gardens of my Victorian home on a balmy moonlit night. Our close friends and family shared the occasion with us. Bob and I each read a special selection from the words of Jamie Sams, a Native American shaman of the Cherokee and Seneca tribes. Then we added our own words of commitment.

My words to Bob:
You have given me wings to fly,
And my spirit soars like a spiraling hawk
To touch the warmth of the sun;
I give you sunlight and rainbows,
A star to guide your way, the breath of life, the fire of love,
A rock to lean on, and gentle healing rain
I hold this union sacred.
In love and respect I will walk beside you.
You are my love for all time.

Bob’s words to me:
My journey has until now been alone. I have struggled to understand the disparate aspects of myself… warrior, healer and mystic. Through your love I have come to accept these parts and become complete. Most importantly, I know that I am no longer alone. You are my guiding star, my Morningstar. I will be your protector, your companion and your lover from this day forward. All things now change… in place, purpose, and style. We move from earth to sea, work to service, prose to poetry.

Nothing has changed that commitment to each other. If anything it is stronger today than ever. But there are times when legal documents are needed in order to carry out that commitment, such as hospital visitation rights, medical decisions, and power of attorney. The State of Washington gives us a way to do that. In 2007, legislation was passed to officially recognize Domestic Partners; giving them all the rights and privileges of married couples… it specifically mentions senior couples, requiring at least one to be over the age of 62. Earlier this month Bob and I filled out the form, had it notarized, added a check to cover the registration fee, and sent it all off to Olympia. By return mail we received two official certificates recognizing our State Registered Domestic Partnership, and wallet cards for each of us. (It has already proven to be helpful.) But nothing has really changed. Commitments are not bound by paper contracts or official sanction. Commitments are made in the heart.

... P. L. Morningstar

Medical Update

I have felt so much better this week, that I’ve overlooked letting all of you know the latest assessment. Yesterday, Kathy the nurse at the infusion center checked the condition of my skin and was amazed at how rapidly it had returned to normal. After reporting that assessment to my oncologist, the decision was made for me to begin taking Tarceva again, but at a lower doseage… 100 mg tablets rather than 150 mg. And I will continue taking Doxycycline, an antibacterial often prescribed for acne and rosacea. Actually, the skin reaction I had with the Tarceva is good news… it is believed to be an indicator of the effectiveness of the drug. It’s working! We just need to find a good balance. Next thing on the agenda is to have a port implanted, which will make infusions a little easier. Thanks to everyone for your concern. Today Bob and I walked a mile in the Bellis Fair Mall. Things are looking up.

... P. L. Morningstar

Americans Who Tell The Truth

I was never one of those teenagers who went wild whenever they heard or saw Elvis Presley perform. I thought the idolization of Princess Diana was absurd. I really do not care what celebrity gets pregnant, married, loses weight, or has a mental breakdown. Yet there are people who have earned my respect and when I have an opportunity to be in their presence, I feel honored. One of those people, Jane Goodall , I met years ago in Eugene, Oregon. Another woman I have admired is Terry Tempest Williams, best known for her environmental literature classic, Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place. She has been called “a citizen writer,” a fierce advocate for freedom of speech and an ethical stance towards all life. Bob and I sat in the audience last night as she spoke and read from her new book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World.

It was a sellout crowd and we arrived early to get a good seat. As the pews at the Congregational Church filled, there was a jubilant feeling in the air. I could hear people talking about President Obama’s first week in office, their feelings of optimism, and plans for a grassroots organization to help bring about change. We’ll meet in homes and serve fresh baked cookies. People always come when there are cookies… we can call our group “Cookies for Change.” Terry Tempest Williams would have smiled had she heard that. Her new book is about repairing a broken world by coming together as a community.

When asked in an interview, who she envisioned as the audience for her new book, she said: We are at a transformative moment in time. We have just elected a transformative figure as our president of the United States of America. Barack Obama asked us to consider two words, "sacrifice" and "service." What are we in the service of? I believe each of us are asking how we can engage with hope once again. How can we be of use? We are asking ourselves the very real question, "How do we find beauty in a broken world? How do we pick up the pieces and create something new, together?

The audience I envision for this book is the audience who gathers together in the name of social change. It is for the individual who wonders how they can participate in a life of greater intention, each in our own way, each in our own time with the talents that are ours. The audience for this book is the audience interested in building community.

How do we do this?

Trust your heart, follow your passion and share it with others.

Become biologically literate -- learn the names of the plants, birds, and animals where you live, extending your notion of community to include all life. Become part of that community with all the rights and responsibilities that it offers, both human and wild.

Create something beautiful.

I was fourth in line to have my book autographed. I watched as she talked to each person who stood in front of her. There is nothing false about her. Her face reveals the inner beauty of her spirit and we are a better world for her courage to write and speak the truth.

... P. L. Morningstar

Mall Walking

I can’t believe it. I hate shopping malls with a passion. I’ve written poems about them… not very complimentary ones, I might add. I don’t like crowds, rushing madly about with one thing on their mind… BUY! BUY! BUY! The only place I dislike more is Wal-Mart. So where did I spend part of this afternoon, and plan to do it again? Walking the corridors of the Bellis Fair Mall, from Target to Macy’s, from Penney’s to the Food Court. Past the Old Country Buffet, Radio Shack, American Greeting Cards, and Victoria’s Secret. I was not tempted. This was for exercise, not shopping. Every once in a while a star would appear on the tile floor denoting 1/4 mile. There were no crowds; the recession has taken care of that. We covered 3/4 mile in no time and finished off the workout with an Orange Julius and a fruit smoothie. I’d rather be outside, but the weather is still too cold and I’m supposed to stay out of the sun because of medication that I am taking. So I have become a mall walker… albeit reluctantly. Sshh. Don’t tell anyone.

... PLM

Finding Peace

I need a quiet place to sit for a while. A place in the woods or by the sea, where I can touch moss and rock, feel wind in my hair, and hear the rustle of living things in the overhead trees and on the ground at my feet. I want to catch a glimpse of deer, and watch a parade of ants diligently carry tasty bits back home. Solitude in nature. It is the food and water and air of my soul, and just as necessary for my well-being. It brings peace. But the temperature stayed below freezing all day and plans for an outing to Larrabee Park turned into an outing to the newly opened Community Food Co-op instead.

The new Cordata store opened on January 15, and was built using U.S. Green Building guidelines, with energy and resource saving features such as daylight integration, heat recovery, Forest Stewardship Council-certified or recycled wood, recycled steel, wheatboard cabinetry, and landscaping consisting of all native, drought tolerant, and low-or non-allergen plants. There are even special parking spaces designated for alternative fuel vehicles.

I didn’t find Peace in nature today. But I found it on the shelves of the new Co-op. Looking at and admiring the plethora of olive oils, I noticed a bottle with a white dove and the name “Peace Oil.” Peace Oil is a joint project of Israelis and Palestinians. With all of the death and destruction that has recently occurred in Gaza, the bottle of olive oil I held in my hand filled my heart with joy to know there are good people working together for peace in that troubled land. It is “extra virgin olive oil from Palestinian farmers using traditional methods of the region, without pesticides and fertilizers. Supplied by three fair trade groups, two Israeli, one Palestinian; Peace Oil encourages grass-roots cooperation, building bridges between the two peoples.”

Elsewhere in the store I found CD’s produced by a local, independent company called Soundings of the Planet. Considered New Age music, it features Native American wood flutes and the sounds of nature. On their website they talk about their desire “to create a peaceful, musical experience for people, especially urban dwellers, that would get them in touch with the vibration of the earth and they would then be inspired to make decisions that affected the planet in a positive way. That was our original vision of creating Peace Through Music." If you go to their website, be sure to check out the “Increase the Peace Campaign.” I bought one CD... Wood Over Water. While it is peaceful and relaxing, it does not take the place of actually sitting on a rock at the edge of a stream, but it will have to do until the weather warms.

... PLM

Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst.

Last week showed us how quickly things can go bad. That we fool ourselves when we think we have plenty of time ahead of us. We still do not know for sure what caused the dramatic decline over a period of several days. Rash and dry skin are common side effects experienced by most patients on Tarceva. But the rash burned, and skin peeled from fingers, and the dryness aged me ten years overnight… no matter how many times a day I lathered myself with special moisturizers, or bathed with Aveeno bath therapy. My mouth was dry. The cuticles of my fingernails became inflamed and bled (nail toxicity). It was far more than ordinary side effects of Tarceva. I coughed up blood. I could not sleep, lost my appetite, and became so weak and listless that Bob called the nurse’s hotline for advice on Friday. It was decided that I stop the Tarceva and begin a round of antibiotic to fight any infection that I might have. The improvement was almost as dramatic as the decline had been earlier.

But on that worst day, both Bob and I faced what no doubt we will have to face sooner or later, decisions about living and dying… who to call, preparing a will, and what kind of burial I want. "If I die before May, take my ashes up on the hot air balloon ride." It was an e-mail from a relative that made me realize that it is time for me to start designating who gets what from my estate… to have it all down in writing. It is hard to think about these things when I am trying so hard to live. There is still every reason to believe that the Avastin, and even the Tarceva, are successfully keeping my cancer from growing. There are reports of people living five and six years with Avastin. So we hope for the best, while preparing for the worst. It is an awkward state of being.

Monday I see the nurse for an assessment on my skin condition. Then the decision is to be made about restarting the Tarceva, possibly at a lower doseage. Bob’s sister Tracy will be arriving from Pittsburgh for a brief visit with us. It will be fun to show her our favorite spots in Bellingham. And of course Village Books in Fairhaven and a bowl of African peanut soup at the Colophon Café.

... P. L. Morningstar

I Can See Clearly Now

I have a brand new pair of prescription reading glasses. It is like a small miracle, being able to read the fine print of a book without the squinting and blurred lines. When I thought about that this morning, a tune began to play in my head and the words, “I can see clearly now.” It’s an old 1972 song written and recorded by Johnny Nash. I looked up the lyrics online and was struck by how well they describe my feelings about the new direction our country is taking under the leadership of President Barack Obama. Gone are the dark clouds. Oh yes, it is a bright Sun-Shiny day.

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin?for
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

Look all around, there’s nothing but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothing but blue skies

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

... P. L. Morningstar

A Return to Grace

Today has already become history. The earth stood still as if time had stopped, for there was only one time… Obama time. Around the world and across our nation, time zones ceased to exist. No matter where we were, at noon in Washington D.C. we watched Barack Obama became the 44th President of the United States, and the first African American to become our nation’s leader. Bob and I watched the events unfold on streaming Internet video. Despite the glitches and lost feed, and the sometimes-trivial blather of TV presenters, we felt the return of pride and respect for the Presidency. My favorite moment came at the end of the inaugural ceremony’s benediction, when the Rev. Joseph Lowery, a leader during the civil rights movement said, "We ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to give back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man, and when white will embrace what is right.” President Obama raised his bowed head and laughed as we all did. It was a great moment.

And when the parade went on and on into the darkness of night, with every person young and old playing and marching their best for this once in a lifetime moment, the President and First Lady remained in the viewing stand, long after everyone else had left to change into their evening clothes for the inaugural ball. You could see the fatigue in their faces, but they did not leave. I think they knew that the parade represented the spirit and diversity of America far better than the glittering ball gowns and formal tux. The parade was the People’s moment. It has been a glorious day. Now we have to get to work.

... P. L. Morningstar

Sunshine into the Darkness

I‘ve had a rough week. No need to go into details, but Tarceva has been temporarily discontinued and I am on a round of antibiotics. On Monday, we’ll discuss the situation with my oncologist after my Avastin infusion. Living with cancer is like riding a roller coaster, with all the highs and lows and everything in between. And when I am faltering at the bottom of the double loopy-loop, little things can make all the difference. Like yesterday… it was terrible and I was seriously thinking, “I’m really going downhill fast.” Then Bob answered a knock on the door and accepted a parcel post package addressed to me. The return address showed it was from my sister Nancy – the one who sends me all the silly cards that make me laugh. Inside the box was a blue Teddy bear dressed in a purple tee shirt, a purple straw hat with lime green flowers, lime green sunglasses, and a jaunty yellow scarf around her neck. There were words printed on the tee shirt that said, “Don’t worry. I forgot your name too.” When I pressed a button on the bear’s paw, it played the Beetle song, “When I’m Sixty-Four.” A little handwritten message was tucked inside... "I didn't forget. I love you. Please keep on fighting Sis." Oh, I needed that, especially yesterday. It brought sunshine into the darkness. Thank you Nancy.

And if I may be so bold, may I tell you what is not helpful… hearing stories about cancer patients who are suffering set-backs, whose cancer is spreading, and who have been told that it is not a matter of “if,” but a matter of “when.” If you want to help me, tell me about the survivors… I already know about the other stuff.

... P. L. Morningstar
.

It is what it is

There are so many postings that I have begun and then scrapped. “I can’t write that,” I tell myself, “people want to be inspired, to find hope, positive thinking.” So I post nothing… waiting for something positive to write about. But it is unrealistic to think that I can keep pumping out upbeat missives. There are days when I feel like Job with one affliction coming hard upon the heels of another. With most chronic diseases, the medicine you take makes you feel better. However, cancer treatments add their toll to the bodily assault… chipping away at the quality of life with bleeding gums, nail toxicity, peeling skin, dry everything, and the terrible life-numbing fatigue. Normal, everyday life is only a fond memory… one that I will never see again.

There are many, and I mean MANY in big capital letters… many things for which I am grateful. First and foremost, my Bob, who carries my burden and lightens my load. Then the loving support of family and friends, excellent healthcare here in Bellingham, caring nurses at the infusion center, financial aid to cover the high cost of Tarceva, and living in a vibrant and friendly community… and much more. It helps to make the situation bearable, but cannot change the day-to-day experience. My good friend Melanie tells me her mother had an expression, “It is what it is.” She was right.

I do have something upbeat to report. Remember the preliminary plans for my friend Melanie and me to ride the MV Aurora Explorer this spring? We were going to relive those young, carefree days of world travel. Well those plans ended pretty quickly when it turned out the cost would be $2,600 per person and the roundtrip airfare to Campbell River would add another thousand. So I came up with a plan B for Birthday/Balloon. I’ve always wanted to go on a hot air balloon ride, and on the internet found Morning Glory Ballooning in Winthrop, Washington. Yay! The morning of May 26, was available and is now reserved for our balloon ride and picnic. The basket holds five passengers and the pilot. Just enough room for Melanie and Lee, my son Jeff, Bob… and me. A wonderful way to celebrate my 70th birthday, and coincidently, the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. Something to look forward to. It is what it is.

... P. L. Morningstar

How do I write a poem about cancer?

Do I write about the needles and wriggly veins and the purple bruises turning yellow; the smiling faces that crumple into frowns when the dreaded word CANCER is mentioned; the stumble of words about miracles and prayers and good thoughts sent my way? The surprise in their voices, “you look so good.”

… but do they know that when I blow my nose bright red spots bloom on the white tissue? That I hold onto the grocery cart for balance? The twist of scarf wrapped so artfully around my head hides my baldness? My life has become scheduled into little boxes on a calendar. Rather than tears, I have questions. Should I keep flossing my teeth; renew my driver's license; subscribe to a magazine? How much time do I have to live?

More doctors enter my world than I have seen in a lifetime. Doctors with sadness in their eyes. Doctors who hug. Doctors afraid to give false hope, and indifferent bastards who say, “You might want to consider just going back to your home in Canada.” They play the survival game called six months to live. When does the clock start? Is it when the cells began their uncontrollable growth, or when I began to cough and a walk in the woods left me breathless? Or does the clock begin ticking on that fateful day when I hear the words, “You have cancer.” Tell me, how do I write a poem about cancer?

“I’m afraid this will be a life changing event for you.” When those words come from your physician, it is not something you want to hear. Cancer isn't one of life’s little storms. It will kill me sooner or later. Do I betray my will to survive by contemplating my death? The thoughts come to me unbidden. They sharpen everyday images and make each day precious. I know this storm will not pass, so I learn to dance in the rain.

Pills in all sizes, shapes, and colors. Twice a day, three times a day, others as needed. Pills for anti-nausea, anti-inflammatory, antibiotic, acid reflux, pain, cough suppressant, thyroid, and constipation. I live in a pharmaceutical stew, spend days in a chemo fog, and I am so, so tired.

Chemicals drip into my bloodstream… to poison my body enough to kill the cancer but not quite kill me. Whether or not it is true, I feel like I am buying time. I look around the infusion room, at other patients sitting in cushioned chairs like mine. Bald headed or wearing caps and scarves, they sleep or visit with a friend. The room is full today… eleven of the twelve chairs occupied. I see familiar faces. We smile and nod at each other, ask how the last treatment went. For a day we become family. We are all here for one reason… because we want to get well, or at least to live a little longer.

This is a poem about cancer.

... P. L. Morningstar
.

PEACE AND JUSTICE

Elation, Hopefulness. Optimism… those are the emotions that I have felt since the November election victory of Barack Obama. The swearing in ceremony, parade, inaugural balls, fireworks and celebration are only ten days away, and yet the optimism I once felt is slipping away. When I read the headline US Senate Supports Israel's Gaza Incursion , and the quote concerning the Senate’s non-binding resolution... It (the Senate) also expresses an "unwavering" commitment to Israel's welfare and recognizes its right to act in self defense to protect citizens against acts of terrorism, I began to wonder once again about the future of this country and the world. All the hoopla of a presidential inauguration and putting new faces at the head table mean nothing when we put a stamp of approval on Israel’s aggression.

No one claims that Hamas is blameless. As Dahr Jamail wrote in The Monstrosity of War, Hamas rockets have killed five Israelis, one of them a soldier and four of them civilians. As with Israeli attacks that kill and wound Palestinian civilians are a war crime, Hamas firing their grossly inaccurate rockets into Israel, which then wound and kill Israeli civilians, is also a war crime. But how can anyone see the scenes of death and destruction in Gaza and believe that what Israel is doing can be justified as a proportional act of defense? A rock (rocket fire) is thrown by desperate, starving, oppressed people and Israel answers with all the modern weaponry that the United States can provide to them. There is evidence now that white phosphorus is being used, including evidence that the rounds have injured Palestinian civilians, causing severe burns. The use of white phosphorus against civilians is prohibited under international law.

In a piece written by former president Jimmy Carter, An Unnecessary War, he describes the situation in the Gaza strip…

After 12 days of "combat," the Israeli Defense Forces reported that more than 1,000 targets were shelled or bombed. During that time, Israel rejected international efforts to obtain a cease-fire, with full support from Washington. Seventeen mosques, the American International School, many private homes and much of the basic infrastructure of the small but heavily populated area have been destroyed. This includes the systems that provide water, electricity and sanitation. Heavy civilian casualties are being reported by courageous medical volunteers from many nations, as the fortunate ones operate on the wounded by light from diesel-powered generators.

In 2003, Rachel Corrie, a 23-year old International Solidarity Movement activist from Olympia, Washington was killed by an American-made bulldozer operated by an Israeli. She was attempting to block the demolition of a Palestinian family’s home in the Gaza Strip. Her story is told in Let Me Stand Alone. There are few of us who have the courage to stand in front of a moving bulldozer… who would be willing to stand alone and unprotected in the path of power and destruction. But can’t we at least recognize and condemn the injustice? Can’t we at least feel empathy and compassion? And act upon it?

United for Peace and Justice
American Friends Service Committee

... P. L. Morningstar
.

TURNING SAND INTO GOLD

Through our newsletters in 1998, we tried to describe the rewards and difficulties of living on one of British Columbia’s outer islands. But the most revealing evidence of the costliness of building on Middle Rendezvous was the purchase and delivery of sand from Campbell River. All building materials came by water - either private boat or the twice-monthly barge. We needed sand to make cement for the landing pier pads. See below its transformation from sand to gold. (Canadian Dollars)

Sand Purchased at Campbell River:

3 1/2 yards of sand... $93.80
GST Tax... 10.42
Prov. Tax... 6.57

Total... $110.79

Bag Rental for Sand
7 @ $10 each... $70.00

Truck Delivery to Barge... $55.00

Barge Delivery to island... $453.60

Total Cost of Sand As Delivered
to Middle Rendezvous Island... $689.39

... P. L. Morningstar
.

THE MONSTROSITY OF WAR

(Photo: Abid Katib / Getty Images Europe)

Excerpt from news article, The Monstrosity of War by Dahr Jamail, published 06 January 2009 on Truthout website

Agence France-Presse reports that the first person killed when the Israeli military began to enter Gaza on Saturday was a Palestinian child.

On Sunday, a Palestinian woman and her four children were blown to pieces when Israeli warplanes bombed their home. They are among the 521 victims (at the time of this writing) of the ongoing air and ground assault on the Gaza Strip by a 9,000 strong force, which the Israeli government has launched on one of the most densely populated tracts of land in the world, home to 1.5 million Palestinians, half of them under 17 years of age.

Israel began the military assault on Gaza on November 4, breaking the truce that Hamas had observed for many months. It went on to block food supplies to be delivered into Gaza by the UN Relief Works and World Food Program. The next casualty was the crucial fuel delivery service used to run Gaza's power plant. Finally, Israel banned journalists and aid workers from entering Gaza.

It is important to note that in mid-December, during a visit to Israel, UN Human Rights Investigator Richard Falk called the Israeli blockade of Gaza "a crime against humanity" and a "flagrant and massive violation of international law."

Falk, a professor emeritus of international law at Princeton University and United Nations special rapporteur on human rights in the Palestinian territories, urged the UN to invoke "the agreed norm of a responsibility to protect a civilian population being collectively punished by policies that amount to a Crime Against Humanity." Falk also called for an International Criminal Court investigation of Israeli military and civilian officials for potential prosecution.

For this, he was detained at Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion Airport for 20 hours before being expelled from Israel.

CEDAR… from tree to landing entrance

Morningstar’s Journal
12 September 1998

I peeled my first log today. The little instruction I received was from Cesar’s wife Lee as she handed me their long-handled ‘spud’ and left with these parting words, “Push it under the bark and pry up. You’ll see. It will become obvious to you.” Easy for her to say. But I had wanted to peel these cedar logs myself. Now let’s see how obvious peeling a log can be. Should I start at the top or bottom? Work from right to left or the other way around? I forced the chisel-like blade under three layers - outer and inner bark and the cambium - pried up and pushed forward, separating them from the sapwood beneath. Sometimes I could peel away long continuous strips - other times, it was a struggle, especially around the knots. My hands became sticky with sap and smelled of cedar resin - a good smell. And there was a sense of satisfaction in watching the smooth creamy white sapwood appear from under the rough bark.

As I worked, I thought about what I had read in a book called CEDAR by Hilary Stewart; how important the cedar tree was in the lives of the First Nations’ People. They used every part of the tree: roots for baskets, bark for clothing, timber for post-and-beam houses and ocean-going canoes, withes for rope, lashings and sewing. They were so dependent upon the cedar that it was considered the “tree of life” and they addressed the supernatural spirit of the cedar as “Long Life Maker” and “Healing Woman.”

My thoughts are also reflective. What is my connection with all of this? I remember the day I chose this tree; the day I spoke to it when it stood tall in the forest, and the day I watched it fall to the ground. This is not something I went to the lumberyard to buy. I am personally involved with this tree and it is with a sense of responsibility and respect that I work with it now, learning to peel bark in the hot afternoon sun.
___________________________

Several days later Cesar planed and notched the peeled cedar poles. Then with only blocks of wood, rope, a come-a-long, and muscle, Bob, Cesar, and Bob Wilson put up the first cedar section to form the entrance to Morningstar’s Landing. (My Bob wears the green shirt.)

... P. L. Morningstar

Log Towing

By the time the golden maple leaves began to fall, we had a floating dock in place for Chiron and preliminary architectural drawings for a new home on Middle Rendezvous Island. We tramped over our twenty acres with Cesar, the architect/builder, to find appropriate cedar trees for the landing piers and entry posts. Cesar ticked off the requirements… The trees must be about 16” in diameter, straight, and not taper too much. It would be best if most of the lower limbs were absent. And we must be able to get the trees out easily by cutting them into 7 to 10-foot sections on the site.

A week later, when the first tree was felled, I felt like I was the executioner, or the judge condemning a tree to die. Having grown up in a logging community, that probably sounds pretty silly, but it was not an act that we took lightly. I quietly thanked the tree, and we all moved a safe distance away as the chainsaw began to rip into the cedar’s tender bark. It took awhile before I could see movement at the top of the tree, wavering slightly and then in slow motion, a long slow sigh as it fell heavily to the ground. Two days later we were ready for the next step… log towing.


LOG TOWING
Morningstar’s Journal
11 September 1998

This morning began with a clash of attitudes toward the arrival of morning. I like morning. I am cheerful – at my best in the morning hours. I like to get up, have something to eat, enjoy a cup of coffee, and ease into the new day. Bob is not a morning person. And this morning, before I had even begun to drink my coffee, Bob launches into his need to make immediate decisions for the day - right now - so he can schedule things like turning on the generator, taking a shower, shaving… make plans to go into Campbell River. All my buttons are pushed and I finally say “Okay. Okay. Do whatever you want.”

Then we hear voices. Cesar and his wife Lee pull up along side our sailboat. They explain that they’ve started work on our cedar tree - the one that had been felled earlier in the week “Can you come over with your skiff and tow a couple of the sections? We’ll take care of the one we’ve just limbed, but we can’t limb the other two because they are in the water and it would take a long time for us to tow them. We thought you might want to do that.” Bob turns to me, a big smile on his face, “Better get your clothes on. We’ve got some log towing to do.” I leave my untouched coffee behind, exchange my nightgown for jeans, a flannel shirt and Tevas. We jump into Dragonfly and start the engine.

As we near the two tree sections floating in the water, Bob begins to sing, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, dashing all the way.” They do look a lot like giant Christmas trees. We don’t have far to tow the logs - that is if we could do it in a straight line - but it doesn’t work that way. We discover that floating trees tend to have a mind of their own, especially if they haven’t been limbed, and when Bob steers our Boston Whaler left, the tree limbs push us right! We learn to maneuver the boat in small increments - forward - reverse - compensate - keep the towline out of the prop. Like drunken sailors, the boat, the tree, and we slowly zigzag our way into Drew Passage and around Bear Skull Island. What started out as a lark ends up being a test of our patience and the endurance of the new 50 hp Honda engine.

Several hours later we have successfully towed the two tree sections into our bay and close to the shoreline. Lee and Cesar are on shore and are able to pull one section onto the beach for us. The other will have to wait for high tide at 11 pm. At 10:30 pm Bob and I row ashore in our dinghy. I hold a flashlight while Bob cinches up the securing lines on the first two logs and then we slog our way through bone-chilling tide water, across boulders and under the crudely-constructed lumber platforms. We arrive at the third tree section, the one that needs to be pulled higher onto the beach. We look at it, and at each other. “This is crazy! What are we doing out here in the middle of the night pulling in logs? Is this what people our age do in their retirement years?” We look at our wet pant legs, glance up at the nighttime sky filled with stars, and over to Chiron with one light glowing softly in the darkness… and we laugh. Yeah, this is good.

Together Bob and I pull in the log and secure it well above the high water line. As we return, the flashlight beam reveals tiny salamanders that come out only at night, and the sea shines with bioluminescence as we row back to Chiron. The schedule that had seemed so important in the morning failed to materialize as it met head-on with the realities of island time. Is there a lesson to be learned here? Do I hear Lao Tzu saying... don’t take this business of life so seriously - forget any idea of control - just go with the flow? Hmmmm. (Excerpt from A WINTER PASSAGE)
.

Tramp Steamers and Landing Barges

On Christmas Day Melanie and I were comparing notes on our youthful dreams of travel. After finishing high school, I had wanted to work my way to Europe on a tramp steamer, and then cycle through Europe, staying at youth hostels. I even sent away for all the necessary information. College, marriage, and raising a family intervened. Melanie on the other hand, reached Europe and traveled on her own for a year. “I wish we had known each other then,” I told Melanie, “I would have loved traveling with you.” She agreed, “There were many times that I wished I had a friend to travel with.” Bob and Lee overheard our conversation, especially about the tramp steamer, which gave Bob an idea. “How about sending you two up to Campbell River this spring to board the MV Aurora Explorer? That’s pretty close to a tramp steamer.” It is a 135-foot landing craft that transports a wide variety of heavy equipment and freight throughout the Gulf of Georgia and Discovery Islands… a freighter that just happens to accommodate 12 passengers on its 5-day delivery route.

Bob and I are familiar with the Marine Link deliveries. In the summer of 1998, we were on Middle Rendezvous Island building a dock and landing for our future home. The only way to get building material to the island was with a Marine Link landing craft. We called it a barge. We never knew when the delivery would take place, it all depended on currents and tides. Our first delivery came at two in the morning.

THE NIGHT THE BARGE CAME

Morningstar’s Journal
19 August 1998

It came in the middle of the night - 2 am to be exact - the barge delivering the lumber for our ramp and landing. Bob had set the alarm clock for 1:30, and at the first ring had quickly gotten out of bed. Yet he did it so quietly that I remained undisturbed and continued to sleep. The sound of the hatch opening was my first awareness of the pre-dawn delivery. I called out, “Is it here?” Bob was already climbing down the boarding ladder to get into the dinghy. “Yes, it is. I’m going to row over to meet it. You go back to sleep.” I could now hear and feel the rumbling engines. Through the porthole I could see a brightly lit shape looming just off our stern - a spotlight pierced through the darkness of a moonless night. It looked like an extraterrestrial spaceship had landed in our bay, but it was the Aurora Explorer. And no, I wouldn’t be going back to sleep. I didn’t want to miss this. Surprisingly, the air was not cold and I sat on the coaming still wearing my black nightgown. I could see Bob in his yellow slicker pulling on the oars as he rowed to shore; then pointing out to the deck engineer the crude platforms we had built last week to hold the lumber. With an uneven rock and boulder shoreline, you have to find other ways of doing things. The deck engineer nods. This is familiar to him, he sees it all the time out here. The barge is the lifeline of the outer islands - the only way to acquire building materials, heavy equipment, and fuel. A large yellow truck is on the barge tonight, “Superior Propane” emblazoned in bright red letters on its side. The marine barge is also a necessity that adds greatly to our building costs – the unforeseen cost of living out here.

Bob’s Notes

It was 2 am on a cool, windless morning. No moon - stars bright. Suddenly out of the darkness, there are lights. Red and green running lights. Vapor lamps on the working deck. Lights on the bridge and the bright square windows of the passenger deck lounge. A great spotlight searching the shoreline as the Aurora Explorer rounds North Point and turns into our bay on Middle Rendezvous Island. As the barge turns slowly in the bay, the spotlight catches Morningstar fifty feet away, sitting on the deck of Chiron in her long black nightgown, a cat on either side. All three watching the barge bringing lumber for the landing and boathouse; at the same time sleepy tourists on the barge were standing at the lounge windows, cameras flashing at the sailboat with its lady and her crew. The bay, dark and quiet moments ago, is now filled with light and sound. The sound of powerful engines reversing, water churning from the twin props, deck crew calling to each other, heavy chains being moved - the whine of the hydraulic winch.

I was in Dearheart, halfway between Chiron and the shore, rowing to the crude platforms that we had built over the last few days. These would hold the lumber just above the high tide mark and would serve as a place to work for the first stages of construction.

The barge and I reached shore together. It quieted and its main lights went off. The deck engineer and I spoke briefly about how the lumber was to be unloaded. Two hours later, the Aurora Explorer was gone and I was back on Chiron. Morningstar and I sat in the luxury of the dark and near silence. Water lapping on the shore. Frogs on Arbutus Point. Wind freshening. We watched the stars, and water flickering with bioluminescence. As we talk, neither of us could imagine not being here. Likewise, neither of us could have imagined a year ago, that this is where we would be now. Two people, a couple of cats, a boat - now an island home. It is a love story.

... Bob and Morningstar

How are you doing?

I hear that a lot. Do you really want to know? Well, here goes. Since starting Tarceva last month, I have a red blotchy rash on my chin; it also runs across my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose, around the eyes and eyebrows. The rash is on my chest and the back of my neck. Some areas are itchy… around the nostrils, my scalp, even inside my ears. I use a Hydrocortisone cream for the itching. Skin is peeling on my fingers and hands. The cuticles around fingernails and toenails are red and sore. I liberally apply Aquaphor ointment twice a day to the skin around the toenails and then pull on thin white socks. I use assorted moisturizing creams and ointments such as Cetaphil and Eucerin for my hands and face. I use a sunscreen when I go outside. I soak in Aveena therapeutic baths to help alleviate the dry skin and itching. I use a saline nasal spray to moisturize the nose… otherwise I have sneezing episodes and blowing my nose results in blood-spotted tissue. I have dry mouth; suffer from acid reflux at night, and intermittent diarrhea anytime. Yesterday Bob bought me a storage basket just to hold all my new skin moisturizing creams and ointments, bath packets, and sunscreen. I guess I should be happy about the dry skin and rash… it shows that the new drug is working to slow the cancer growth.

I have become wobblier on my feet over the past couple of months. I use a cane when I venture outside our home. There has been a marked loss in appetite, although I have not lost any weight. All of these things are the side effects of chemotherapy, not the disease itself. Even so, I am one of the lucky ones. It could be much worse.

It is important for me to remember that I have a healthy body. All the parts are working just fine. I just have cancer. The fact that my body is in good shape is why it can withstand the chemical assault as well as it has. I continue to maintain that healthy body program by eating well. Every day Bob whips up a fruit smoothie from carrot/orange juice, yogurt, bananas, strawberries, blueberries, and whatever else happens to be available. (All those berries my sister Nancy brought me from Oregon this summer have come in very handy.) Green veggies… very important. Garlic… I love it! And I drink LOTS of water.

Music lifts the spirit and soothes the soul. Recently I have been listening to our new David Lanz CDs (we attended a David Lanz concert last month) and the Celtic Ladies Collector’s Edition that came as a Christmas gift. I work a crossword puzzle every day, read, write, and in the evening we watch DVDs that we get at the public library… the Brother Cadfael series, Midsomer Murders, Inspector Lynley Mysteries, and Hercule Poirot are our favorites. Weather permitting, getting out every day is important too. And perhaps the most important thing of all is to become involved in something outside of myself. Though we have not participated yet, we plan to become involved with the Whatcom County Peace and Justice organization and their weekly peace vigil. Bellingham is home to the longest-running weekly peace vigil in the nation, having started in 1966.

And that is how I am doing.

Join us each Friday for the Whatcom Peace Vigil. 4 p.m. on the corners of Magnolia and Cornwall in downtown Bellingham. "The Peace Zone" open discussion follows at Port Of Subs sandwich shop 212 W. Magnolia. All are welcome! (Whatcom County Peace and Justice Center.)

... PLM