Passing time

Rosemary says "It's time to get up."

Oh, this Rosemary is quite a cat. She has me, hook, line, and sinker.

I seem to have been missing again—I'm sorry. The past few months have been so busy, so full of work and knitting and new adventures and yes, a few challenges.

In knitting, there was Rhinebeck—a weekend of new traditions for Rebecca and me, since Rachel and Judy couldn't be there. We had some fun anyway.

Coffee at Gigi's

The beautiful gardens at Bard College

There was the Knitter's Review Retreat, my annual dose of knitter love. It has to last the year.

Inn on the Lake, Canandaigua, NY

And then... there came The Great White Bale. I'll have to write later about the loveliness that is my job as Clara Parkes' Director of Customer Happiness, but let's just say I'm having the time of my life.

And those challenges—well, they're the kind you just rise to meet. My visits to Dr. Pearl continue to be happy ones, although I'm in need of surgery to deal with some scar tissue, and it's scheduled for mid-February. I'll keep you posted.

It's a process

Today is the fourth anniversary of my surgery, the day I began many long months of recovery and treatment and recovery from treatment. Coincidentally, it's also National Cancer Survivors Day. I've been a bit stubborn about adopting the "survivor" label, but I think it's time. I don't have cancer any more.

It's a process. Cancer is a process. Treatment is a process. Healing is a process. Surviving is a process. The process has been hard on me these past few months, harder than I thought it would be by now. I needed to remember that it's different for everyone, that we're all on our own timeline. I needed to stop and rest, stop plowing ahead.

It took a while for me to realize that for me, healing and surviving isn't simple. It's hard work. Careful management of my lymphedema, the leftover effects from chemotherapy, a seismic shift at my job, and losing my mother — my plate is full. I've been working on it. It's a good process.

So, today is the fourth anniversary of my surgery... I'm looking back, but I'm right here. I'm trying to be right here.

Peace Love & Yarn Bluebird BFL Sock Yarn (Thank you Liz!)

(Silent) Poetry Reading

To the Surgeon Kevin Lin
by W. S. Merwin

Besides these words that are made of
breath and memory with features
of both and are only mine as
                I address them to you

what do I owe to that steady
fire I watched burning behind your
glasses through the dire spelling-out
                when we met that first day

and to the passion of the boy
from Taiwan and the sharp knowledge
it burned a way to until it
                stood before the open

red cavern and between pulses
was sure how to do what came next
had it not been for that would I
                have been here this morning

at home after a night's rain as
the first sunlight touches the drops
at the tips of the leaves I owe
                you the sight of morning

from Present Company (Copper Canyon Press, 2007)

I chose this poem for Dr. Michael Pearl, the wonderful gynecologic oncologist who continues to travel the road with me, his patient patient.

Found

Her name is Rosemary, and a few days ago she found the hole in my heart and stitched it up.

We're just getting to know each other, we two, but I know this: a cat who places her paw in your hand, ever so gently, and lets it rest there — that cat is your cat, and you are her person.

Rosemary came to me — along with her sweet name — from ARF, one of our local rescue organizations. Annabelle was an ARFan, too.

I do knit, and I do have pictures, but I will save them for next time. I've been completely consumed by Rosemary, of course, but also by a monumental project at work. I rarely write about my job (I try not to), but I'm in charge of our new website, and I've been busy putting it together. It launched yesterday and I'm pretty pleased with it.  Go take a look when you have a minute.

This Sunday I'll be at SBUMC Cancer Center to celebrate National Cancer Survivor's Day, and I'll be at a special breakfast for those of us who are participating in clinical trials. I'm so happy to be here, three years after my diagnosis of uterine cancer, and so honored to be helping find better treatment for my sisters who will be diagnosed in the future. All the research money in the world (and all the pink stuff we're encouraged to buy) won't get rid of cancer without patients and doctors participating in clinical trials. Just sayin'.

Drifting back

I'm still here!

Nothing monumental has kept me away from the blog. I drifted away; I don't know what else to call it. I've heard from many friends — little notes with worry attached to them, hesitant questions about my absence and my health — and I want to tell you all how dear you are, and how sorry I am to have concerned you.

I'm also a little sorry that lately most of my (spotty) contact with my friends and my family has been through Facebook, because not everyone uses it, and it certainly doesn't replace the blog, or an email, or a call. I want to remedy that.

My life has been occupied with realities, and I suppose they have been enough to have changed my focus and drawn me away from the small bits of writing that I've always done, both here and privately.

My health has been one reality — but it's "just" the chronic lymphedema that is one of the souvenirs of my cancer treatment (my lymphatic system in my legs doesn't function properly any more). I spent a couple of months going for treatment at a Wound Care Center for an infection in one leg, then at Christmas I developed another infection in my other leg. I've made progress, but still, I have to learn how to live with and manage this condition, because I can't function when it's taking over my daily life. That, and I'd like to be able to take a walk.

Another reality — which I've spoken of on Facebook — is that my dear cat Annabelle is seriously ill. At Thanksgiving the vet diagnosed an inoperable tumor in her small intestine, and since then I've been giving and getting all the love I can, and waiting for the time when her little self lets me know she needs to leave. Right this minute, she's purring in her usual place, under the lamp on my desk. She spends her days eating a little, sleeping a lot, and reminding me that she's in charge around here. I'm going to miss her so.

Since having to spend so much time with my feet up, I've been doing a lot of knitting. I made some beautiful Christmas gifts, but did I photograph them? Of course not! There was: a Porom tam in Foxfire Fibers Cormo/Silk/Alpaca, a Honey Cowl in Sundara DK, two Hydrangea Neckwarmers in Spirit Trail Berte and Foxfire Cormo/Silk/Alpaca, a pair of Foxglove mitts in Berrocco Blackstone Tweed, and some silly coffee cup cozies for my coworkers in miscellaneous leftover yarns. I did take a picture of the sock yarn /lavender sachets, though.

So here I am. It's a new year, and the days are already growing longer. I hope I can be present here more often. I've missed it, and I've missed you. ♥

Magic

Life is just a bowl of cherry tomatoes.

Two years ago this week I began chemotherapy, and this morning I had my sixth post-treatment checkup with Dr. Pearl. My exam and test results were so encouraging that we were both smiling, happy, laughing. We have done an excellent job.

I’m always anxious in the weeks leading up to each visit. First, about a week before my appointment, I must go in for my blood test. I have routines for this ten-minute non-event — small rituals, really — that I’m sure will make everything all right. They include predicting how low the number will go (this time I decided on 12, and I was spot on). Then I wait. Sometimes Fairy Godmother Nurse Sylvia has a chance to call me with the results before my appointment, sometimes not.

When the day arrives — always a Thursday — there are more routines and rituals. Leave at a certain time, wear my good-luck earrings, listen to happy music in the car, park in my favorite spot at the Cancer Center. If I practice this magic, then all will be well. Moment by moment, I settle in. Breathe deeply, relax while the blood pressure is being taken, get comfortable while I wait for Dr. Pearl.

All I am doing is preparing myself. I must be prepared. No matter how much time passes, no matter how well I feel or how good my blood test is, I must be prepared. I know the percentages for my case. I know what all the chances are, and what the time frame is, too. I’m not watching the calendar, but I'm aware of it. I understand my odds, and in order to thwart them, I must be prepared, and I must practice these small bits of magic.

What Dr. Pearl does is practice his own art. He is, I think, spectacularly capable of creating the treatment plan that will, along with my participation, make me healthy. I see him only every few months, but each time I do, I’m reminded of just how blessed I am to be in his care. His art and my magic are a powerful combination.

When the appointment is over, when he has congratulated me, and I have thanked him, I take my time getting dressed. I need time; I have time. I make my next appointment, and it will be in the future, and the nurse smiles, because I know she knows that I am thinking, “Wow, the future.”

The final ritual in this cycle isn’t magic, but it’s necessary. I go to my car, get in and close the door, and have a little cry. Then I give myself a pat on the back, and go forward.

Or maybe it's a loaf of cherry bread.

This is the life

Ah, yes...

So here it is: my birthday, time to add up all the responses to my Souvenirs and a Celebration post, and make a donation to the Gynecologic Cancer Foundation and its Women's Cancer Network. The grand total is... 105 comments! THANK YOU! Thank you! I began by wanting to give as much as I could afford, and when I decided to invite you to participate, I had no idea that I would receive so much in return. Your beautiful stories have been such a joy to read. I'm inspired by all of you, and by all the love and life that your words contain.

This has been, for me, a month spent marveling, pondering, and feeling. Cancer is part of my story, and it always will be, but it's a good distance behind me. I still feel the need to carry a little bag of preparedness with me, though, like a first-aid kit. It's packed with the skills cancer gave me, and some spare determination, along with a portion of the wisdom I've gained so far. But this baggage, unlike what I've been lugging around until now, is light. It's there just in case, to reassure me in those moments when I want to glance back over my shoulder. 

The road under my feet feels safe, and I'm ready to navigate this new year, and the next, and the next. Whatever is in store, I'm here, and I'm smiling. And I thank you all.

Now for the goodies -- yarn, and beautiful pictures of my landscape --

Two skeins of Sundara Yarns DK Silky Cashmere in "Spring Fresh": 

Louise, who commented on 4/5 at 4:34am
(please email me with your address, Louise!)

A skein of Sundara Yarns Fingering Silky Merino in "Marina over Icicles":

Elizabeth, who commented on 4/21 at 5:35pm
(please email me with your address, Elizabeth!)

Two skeins of Spirit Trail Fiberworks Ananke in "Calypso":

Bailey P., who commented on 4/5 at 3:19pm
(please email me with your address, Bailey!)

A skein of Spirit Trail Fiberworks Orihime in "Shoreline":

Ellen, who commented on 4/7 at 6:30pm

A skein of Spirit Trail Fiberworks Sunna in "Garnet":

Luann!, who commented on 4/6 at 1:37pm

A copy of Jake Rajs' book Beyond the Dunes:

Reya! who commented on 4/4 at 6:12pm

I've contacted Ellen, Luann, and Reya -- Reya! -- and I hope Louise, Elizabeth, and BaileyP will see this and get in touch so I can send them their beautiful yarn.

Now that the anniversary has come and gone, and the party is winding down, I think I'll relax, do a little knitting, and keep enjoying this life. Thank you again for making it a wonderful month, a wonderful year, and a happy birthday!

Bounty to share

 

I had an email from my friend Jennifer Heverly, who is the genius behind Spirit Trail Fiberworks. She's been following my celebration giveaway and reading all the wonderful comments, and she asked if she could contribute some yarn to the prizes I mentioned the other day. Seriously, how could I say anything but yes and thank you? So here they are -- three of Jen's beautiful new yarn bases, and her description of each:

Left: "Two 147-yard skeins of Ananke in 'Calypso', 100% Bombyx silk, DK weight. The color is really more of a rich, light turquoise blue. I figured two skeins would be enough for a  scarf or shawlette, or a fancy hat or mitts..."

Center: "One 430-yard skein of Orihime in 'Shoreline' (this is a brand new yarn, 430 yds per 100g, 80% merino and 20% cashmere). A couple of sample knitters used this for lace and said it was wonderful. The color actually has some bright spring green in it that somehow didn't get into the photo."

Right: "One 350-yard skein of Sunna in 'Garnet' (one of my new favorite colors). It's 75% Superwash merino, 15% cashmere, and 10% Bombyx silk, sort of a heavy fingering weight." I used Sunna for a pair of Hedgerow mitts, and I can vouch for it -- it's just beautiful.

Jen will be at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival this weekend, May 1st and 2nd. Please visit her booth in the Main Building (A30) if you'd like to snuffle and swoon over a lot of incredible fiber and yarn. And please give her a great big hug from me!

I'll be closing the comments on my Souvenirs and a Celebration post tomorrow, Wednesday, at 7:00pm EDT. Then I'm going to have a little drawing using the nifty random number generator that's part of an app in my phone, and I'll post the winners here.

If you'd like to read some lovely stories, and leave a little story of your own, please take a look. I hope to be able to respond to everyone who has taken the time to share their thoughts and celebrations -- but in the mean time, I hope you all know how much your words mean to me and to everyone who has read them. Many thanks to Margene (of the perfect heart), Chris (of the cats who make Annabelle smile), and Sydney (of the ferrets whose antics rival those of Chris' cats), for sharing my post on their blogs. My world has gotten so much bigger this month!

Sur-prizes

It's tulip magnolia time...

Even on a hazy day, they're opening...

Today their branches were the perfect place to pose some of the prizes for my Gynecologic Cancer Foundation fundraiser and giveaway...

First are two skeins of Sundara Yarns DK Silky Cashmere (160 yds each, 55% silk & 45% cashmere) in "Spring Fresh," a color Sundara chose for me. This is one of her newer yarns, and it's just beautiful. It would make a soft and warm cowl or scarf.

Next is a skein of Sundara Yarns Fingering Silky Merino (500 yds, 50% silk & 50% merino) in "Marina over Icicles," a yarn that Sundara sent as a little extra prize (Thank you, Sundara!). I'm knitting Anne Hanson's Boxleaf Triangle shawl with FSM, and I have a "collection" in my stash -- I think it's my favorite (after Sock, of course).

And last, though not posed in a tree, is Beyond the Dunes by Jake Rajs. I want to share this book because it captures the beauty of the many landscapes and the extraordinary light that surround and inspire me. To the rest of the world this place is known as "The Hamptons," but to those who live here it's just home, on the East End of Long Island.

To enter the giveaway, leave a comment on my April 4 post by 7:00pm EDT on Wednesday, April 28 (my birthday!). I'll draw three names at random and contact the winners by email.

I hope you'll add yours to the (yay!) 64 responses so far, and that you'll pass the word. With every new comment, I'm revising my idea of what I will be able to give -- upward. I've never been a "cause" person, but this one, of course, means the world to me. 

Dr. Pearl, Nurse Sylvia, my friends & family, and all of you, aren't charitable foundations, so one way to spread my gratitude around is to make the biggest donation I can to an organization that does so much for me and for all women. I hope you'll join in my fun!

::-::-::

In the not-work part of my life, I've been spinning like a crazy fool ever since I received some very special fiber from Jen at Spirit Trail Fiberworks. It's Bluefaced Leicester blended with silk, cashmere, and merino. There will be pictures eventually, but at the moment I'm in too deep to want to stop to take one. For now, take a look at the fifth picture down in this blog post. Now you see what I mean, don't you? And excuse me as I publish this and get back to spinning while the light is still good!

Random numbers

1. Corn muffins with fresh raspberries are a good way to start a Sunday. I keep trying new things in my corn muffins. The pumpkin seed experiment wasn't too successful, but the raspberry one was.

2. The breakfast that included the corn and raspberry muffin was delicious. I have more muffins, for more breakfasts, or whenever the mood strikes.

3. Am I the only person who thinks that a nice stack of towels just out of the dryer is a happy sight? I can't be.

4. Targhee from A Verb for Keeping Warm is also a happy sight. I've spun two ounces of a medium-fine singles -- half of what I have -- and I hope to spin the second batch this week so I can ply them. My plied sample is so bouncy, it's like a rubber band. I'm getting better at spinning on the Reeves, but I'm sure there a few thick and thin spots in the yarn. I don't mind, because I love what I'm doing. 

5. Right after I took that picture I turned around to go into the house and dropped the bobbin. It bounced down the long flight of stairs, and all I could do was watch. It's cracked across the whole end. If it had been an Ashford bobbin I'd think, "Oh well, I have about a dozen of them." But this is one of four. I can have it repaired, but I'm also going to be smart and order a few more. They have to be specially made, because of course, Rick Reeves doesn't make wheels any more.

6. I'm still hoping for more comments on my April 4th contest post. Right now there are 58 wonderful responses. The prize yarn should be here in a day or two, and I'll post photos on Wednesday. I've also picked out a beautiful book to give to a random non-knitter. 

More comments = a larger donation to the Gynecologic Cancer Foundation = a small step toward better information and more research on women's cancers. 

7. The wisteria leaves have begun to grow. Finally! I say the same thing every year, I'm sure. And the oak trees are doing that pollen thing again. I'm actually hoping for a day or two of rain so that some of it might get washed away!

A little more spinning

I washed my Busy Bee scarf this morning, and I felt very brave. I've never even considered washing handspun in the machine, but this was Superwash Blueface Leicester, so I went ahead and did it. I like the results! It's so soft and has a nice halo, and it kept its shape just like socks do. I wouldn't have chanced it if the scarf were delicate, but this is a sturdy 2x2 rib.

I love it! I think it will go into a box of potential gifts. You never know when a handspun, handknit scarf might be just the ticket. 

One of my other accomplishments for the day is this little skein of yarn that I began spinning on Wednesday. It's Wensleydale wool in a color called "Blue Sky Indigo" from A Verb for Keeping Warm. I had two ounces, so my plied skein is just about 100 yards. I'll figure out what to do with such a small amount after it's set and washed. In the mean time, I had a happy time playing with the fiber and my Reeves wheel.

I'm waiting for my order of Targhee top in "The Shore," also from A Verb for Keeping Warm. April is Targhee month in the KBOW Woolalong, and since I seem to be in a spinning mode, I'll go with it. It should arrive tomorrow, so on Wednesday, after I get back from renewing my driver's license, I'm going to spin the rest of the day away. That's the plan, at least!

::-::

Before long, there'll be yarn to post about -- prizes for the end-of-the-month drawing for comments to my Souvenirs and a Celebration post. I have some lovelies to show you! If you haven't commented yet, please do. My donation to GCF grows with every one! 

Your comments have been so thoughtful, and they keep me thinking, too. There are all kinds of celebrations, both sweet and bitter. Bitter and sweet make life, I think. We don't get one without the other.

We are going

As I write, there are forty-four comments on my Sunday post. The stories  -- some sweet, some sad -- are all full of heart and love and life. They remind me that we are all on the same road, more or less. All these small messages -- I can't believe how many -- are so powerful. Thank you! My little idea to make a donation to GCF is growing every day, and all I can say is Wow!

These photos are of the Euonymus Pieris japonica (thanks Kris! I should have asked you first!) at Judy's house. I took them on Sunday as I was getting out of the car, even before I went into the house. The big bush just reached out and pulled me across the driveway, into its shade. I love the flowers' waxy pinkness, and their light, sweet scent. I could hear bumblebees buzzing around as I got in closer.

Dana Jennings has written another beautiful article in the New York Times, about life after cancer, and he got me thinking about what lies beyond the anniversaries. The everyday "miracles in a minor key" are what he looks for. And he says "I love who and what I love more deeply than ever." Amen to that!

So -- I hope you'll leave a comment on the Souvenirs and a celebration post, if you haven't yet. I'd love to hear about your anniversaries, or even your "miracles in a minor key." For every comment on the post by April 28th I'll make a donation to the Gynecologic Cancer Foundation, and I'll also be drawing names at random for some beautiful yarn (wait until you see!) and a book or two.


Here are the words to the song in my last post, the ones I sing as I travel through the day (or as I wash the windows, which is what I did today!):

Woyaya by Sol Amarfio and Osibisa
We are going, heaven knows where we are going,
We'll know we're there.
We will get there, heaven knows how we will get there,
We know we will.
It will be hard we know
And the road will be muddy and rough,
But we'll get there, heaven knows how we will get there,
We know we will.
We are going, heaven knows where we are going,
We'll know we're there.

Souvenirs and a celebration

It’s been a year, one whole year since my last chemotherapy treatment. Since any treatment for endometrial cancer. A year since my goal was to make it through the day a step at a time. One year of No Cancer!

This first anniversary weaves itself in and out of my days. I remember what a struggle it was to do anything, from getting out of bed, to doing my job, to knitting. I smile when I think about all the love and care that came from my family and friends, and of all those people I don’t know in real life, too, like some of you. I can still taste saline and heparin and taxol if I think about it. 

I can’t help but stop and think about what I was doing, where I was, how I felt at this moment, or on that day a year ago, or a year and a half. And I think about it this way: I’m proud of myself. I worked hard. I tried to be honest. I hope I became wiser. I wanted to find myself here right now, recovering and happy, and I did.

There are remnants and reminders of the journey -- souvenirs, as a dear friend put it. A little blurred vision, still tender lungs, a slightly less efficient heart, swelling in my legs, numbness in my toes. Souvenirs, including the one inch scar where my port was, which reminds me every day that I set my whole body and mind on reaching the land of No Cancer. I accept them, because I arrived.

But now it's time to celebrate! On Thursday I shared the evening with some of the women who spent so many hours with me while I had chemo. I loved seeing all of them together, around a table piled with delicious food. We toasted me, we toasted Dr. Pearl. If you know me you'll think I spent the evening in tears, but I didn't. We laughed and I smiled, and it was the best way to celebrate the year!

I want to make my anniversary last, so I have an idea. We all have anniversaries -- days or moments we remember, that we look to to help us mark time. Leave a comment, and tell me about an anniversary that you celebrate, big or small. I want to know what makes it special and memorable. 

For every comment on this post between now and my birthday on April 28th, I'll make a donation to the Gynecologic Cancer Foundation. It's a wonderful organization that supports research and promotes public awareness of gynecologic cancers, and it's been invaluable to me since my diagnosis. Its Women's Cancer Network was the first website I visited that helped me make sense of what was happening to me. With your help, I want to do more for them.

There's more, because I want to spread my happiness around a little. At the end of the month I'll do the random number thing and somebody will win a prize! If the winner is a knitter, there will be yarn. If not, there will be a book.

So what do you say -- want to play along? I hope so!

Pondering

Knitting is such a healing activity, isn't it? No matter how fully I think I know this, I'm still surprised by it. I'm working on this Knitting Pure and Simple Neck Down Shaped Cardigan #241, which is a mouthful of a name, but a very nice thing to knit. I'm in love with the seed stitch on the front edges. I'm in love with the yarn, too. It's one of those Sundara yarns that doesn't pool or stripe, except in subtle ways that make the whole thing better. I'm not alternating skeins, I'm just knitting. If it weren't such a dreary afternoon, the photograph might do it justice.

I think I'll knit along, and ponder my ponderables, and before too long all will be well.

And I'll have a beautiful sweater to show for it, which makes me smile!

Consoled

Poromity! It's a beautiful hat, amazing yarn, and fun to knit. But. It looks terrible on me. I'm not a tam person after all, or just not a creamy natural white tam person. I even frogged it back and made it less slouchy, but no, it still looks like a pouf of bread dough is perched on my head. I'm sure I'll find a tam-headed person to give it to, so I'm not too sad about it. I wonder if it still counts as a completed Knitting Olympics project?


My consolation has been my other Woolalong project, the Mara shawl in Foxfire Cormo Alpaca Lace. I'm on the last few rows -- I'll bind off when there's just enough yarn left to do it. The finished shawl will be smaller than the size pictured in the pattern, since it's fingering weight yarn instead of worsted. It's been a calming, centering knit, mostly garter stitch with a ribbed ruffle at the edge. And I guess you can tell by the photograph that someone likes it very much!


I love this Lavender Buds color. The natural color of the alpaca peeks through the lavender every once in a while, which gives the yarn more... something. Something good, that is.


Last week was a hard week. My friend and landlord's little cat died suddenly, and I was here to help bury her. There were some small volcanoes at work. And I learned that a long-time customer, M, a kind man who was being treated for cancer at the same time I was, is now receiving hospice care. He and I shared our chemo stories, and had some wonderful conversations, too. He has a wife and two daughters, and he and his family have always been among our most beloved customers.

I rang my little bell for Barry Fraser, though. He's a blogger in Toronto who finished his chemotherapy on Thursday and asked people to join him in ringing the bell. I did. I took my little bell (the one my Cancer Center gave me on my own last day of chemo) to work with me and went to the back room at 2:00, and rang it with all my might, along with all the others that were ringing around the world.

I rang it for Barry, for myself, for Judy’s friend, and for everyone else who is on this journey. If I'd been conscious of it right then, I'd have added special thoughts for M to my small prayer. It wasn't until later in the afternoon that I learned about his being so sick.

Asking why me never seemed like a good way to expend my energy, or like a question that would be likely to have an answer. I just determined to move forward. Take the action, do the thing, have small faith in myself, enough small faith. Find the kernel of strength that could grow into something, into the thing that it took to do the work and finish the job. That's all -- not simple, not easy, just necessary. That is what Barry has done, and I'm sure it's what M has done. We all do it. Those of us living in the world of cancer know how easily the path can descend into darkness, but we keep going anyway, for as long as we can or as long as it takes.

For me, for now, I'm out of the woods and on a brighter, clearer path. I'm grateful and I know how blessed I am. I know that there are many blessings in Barry’s life, and in M’s life too. They're just different. I wish I could give them some of what I have, and I'm thankful for what they've given me. By sharing their experiences with me, they've given me a real gift. To Barry, and especially to M at this moment, I'm deeply grateful.

The news made me so sad. It's hard and depressing and it just plain hurts. Here I am, doing so well, and he's not. I'm so fortunate. I guess that's what I am. I don't feel fortunate right now, though. I just wonder why him.

Relaxamatic

This is how I like to spend my day off. Coffee or tea in my favorite mug, a little knitting, and connectivity at my fingertips. I can't help it; I like my iPhone. It was my Christmas gift to myself, even though I got it in November. That's Judy's Hedgerow Mitt there, almost finished, but not quite. Soon, I promise, while it's still cold enough to wear them!

The photo was taken ten days ago -- the last time I had a really quiet day off at home. I've been busy with work, busy with little things like taking the car to be inspected, and just plain busy. I miss the peace and quiet, so I made it a priority today.

Breakfast was homemade corn and cherry muffins and some fruit. I love dried cherries!

As I continue this inner dialogue on recuperation and recovery, time is marching me forward to another anniversary. It's been about a year since I learned I needed to continue chemotherapy beyond the original seven rounds. I was a mess back then. That news was almost harder to take than learning I had cancer in the first place. I did the job, though. I didn't lie down, I stood up and kept going. And here it is, a year later, and that time is history. It's about history now. Not just putting it behind me, but making it a part of my story.

There will be a lot of anniversaries coming up, things marked on my calendar, and forever on my heart. Every time I see Dr. Pearl, which I'll do this week, I'm marking one. It's another three months since I saw him last, and another three months that I've been on my own, so to speak. Another three months of loving my hair and how it feels and what it means. Another three months of recovery.

I have a new favorite app on my iPhone -- the Hipstamatic Camera. The website declares "Digital Never Looked So Analog" and that just about says it all. There are lots of different "lenses" and "film" and even "flashes." Look what it did with a crazy sunset over Southampton! Ah, life should always be this much fun, shouldn't it?

Bits of life

I’ve been reading the wonderful columns by Dana Jennings, who writes about his experience with prostate cancer for the New York Times. His words often -- almost always, in fact -- move me. Many times I’ve cried because in writing about himself, he’s written my own truth, and some of my own experience. His past couple of columns have been about returning to life and recovering.

Recuperation from cancer is mostly physical. I recuperated from surgery and radiation, and I’m still recuperating from chemotherapy. Cells divide, hair grows, strength returns. It’s a process, predictable and expected; not without its ups and downs, but nearly inevitable.

But recovering, that’s a different matter. It’s not simple, not predictable. Every single person who has had cancer has a different recovery experience. And it will go on for a long, long time -- you don’t just wake up one day and say, “Well, that’s over and done with; all better now!” You climb, crawl, walk, stumble, until eventually you’re upright, and the road is smoother than it was before.

I’m not on the way to becoming my old self, either. I’m creating a new self from the one who traveled that hard road full of unexpected twists, turns and roadblocks. I’m adding bits of my old life back, little by little. I choose familiar things as I encounter them -- a favorite shirt, a visit to the water, a comfortable position in which to fall asleep -- and add them to Jane, where they become part of me again. I decide to leave other things by the side of the road -- stuff that doesn’t matter, shoes that don’t fit, arguments that can’t be won.

A couple of weeks ago I added a visit with my family. There were hugs and kisses for my little mother, who I hadn’t seen for a long, long time. There were laughter and tears with my sisters, my brother, and their families. My heart filled, and I felt something fall into place. Another bit, reclaimed, making Jane.

~::~

My first knitting project of the new year was this Pretty Thing cowl in Bijou Spun Lace Weight Yak. I added one repeat to the pattern and used US 3 needles. It's more than just a pretty thing -- it's divine. I have Kris to thank for the yarn as well as the exquisite Herend experience (see the photo at the top of the post).

Perspective

Calm waters at last... It's been weeks since I had a moment to be quiet, but today is the day. I'm catching up on all sorts of things, resting, knitting, and enjoying some time at home.

The Knitter's Review Retreat was -- there are no words for how wonderful it was! I drove up on Wednesday afternoon with a car full of yarn and my spinning wheel and what felt like my entire house. By the time the rest of the knitters began to arrive on Thursday I'd settled in nicely.

[For a better description of the weekend than I could ever give, read Minh's wonderful three-part blog series. I failed in the photography department, too (not one picture!), but Minh also happens to have taken lots and lots of great pictures.]

My friend and roommate Kristopher arrived very late on Thursday, after working all day and driving for something like eight hours. We hadn't seen each other since last year, so we were looking forward to catching up in person (yarny phone calls just aren't as satisfying as yarny face-to-face conversations). The entire weekend was filled with yarniness -- all my senses were overloaded with yarn, knitters, good food, laughter, friendship, generosity, and fun!

I found myself thinking about my year -- a lot. Last year at the Retreat, I was just about to enter that long, dark winter of chemo and sickness, but I didn't really know it. This year, from the other side, I looked back with a lot of perspective. Surrounded again by all the people who kept me going, and able to (I hope) tell them how much they mean to me, I was happy and nostalgic and teary for most of the weekend. I saw myself differently -- through the eyes of my lovely, caring knitting friends -- not just as a survivor, but as having thrived, too. It's hard to explain, but I love this Jane, from her new hair down to her annoyingly-numb toes.

I started a simple New Beginnings project this year, since last year was the first time I didn't finish what I started on Sunday morning. It was a lace scarf with a provisional cast-on and charts, and apparently, not meant to be. So this time I brought out a skein of merino-alpaca, a beautiful limited edition yarn from Chris at Briar Rose Fibers in greens and blues and browns. I cast on a few stitches on US 10 needles, and began Clara's One Skein Shawl from Knitter's Review. I added some lacey rows, but it's mostly garter stitch, so it's chunky and warm, and above all, easy.


Just what my tired self needs. I'll probably finish it this afternoon.


So the Retreat is over, and Thanksgiving has come and gone, too. I had a great day with Judy and her family -- and I would have stayed longer if I didn't need to be ready for the big weekend at work. Black Friday passed quickly, as it always does, and Saturday was busier than Friday. For the next few weeks my head will be spinning, and then it will be 2010, and I'll get to relax a little. At least I have a goal!