Homemade Kindness
I enjoy making things. After breast cancer five years ago, I took up quilting. Cutting fabric into small pieces and
I enjoy making things. After breast cancer five years ago, I took up quilting. Cutting fabric into small pieces and
I stopped writing. The act of “publishing” my writing was never any big whoop, but the act of writing itself sure had internal value. It was the great pause button in the endless parade of thoughts and feelings that marked my waking, and often sleeping, hours. It directed and diverted me. I live in the constant presence of animals and writing about them was a way to validate my sense of belonging in that world, a world of kinship with creatures. And then I stopped wanting to write about it. Like many other people (read: women), the increasing tumult of the last years has left me embedded in a place of uncomfortable irony: I live a reasonably secure and peaceful life and I also swim endless laps of anger, angst, and rage about world events and the rabid unjustness of it all. I quit telling my stories because they seemed childish in light of those rage-producing events. I quit writing
Not all the time, but fairly persistently throughout my youth and adulthood, I wished for the ability to connect with
I actually used that phase on someone this week. “Glad to hear you’re back in the saddle”, texted in response
So, um yes, if you read my last post you know that I was in need of some lifting up
It is the last day of January and the first post I have made in this year. I am climbing
I rode three horses yesterday and two today, plus mucking and mowing, and general take-care-of-the-farm work. A year ago, I
I have my legs back. My feet, too, and — almost — my hands. Two weeks short of switching (some
I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to take that daily little pill to help my body
I couldn’t find this in my cancer tour guide book; the section on how to determine your cancer-free landmark. It is an important
A friend called me up today to see how I was doing in the aftermath of my bolt from
We’ve been traveling some steep emotional waves of late. Saying “we” is only true because I include us by our
I am grateful for this new year. I am grateful to be alive, to be sitting at this desk beneath
There is this thing I do with the horses. Most of the time, they roam as a herd sharing —
I am keeping track and can now count on one hand the number of days until my next surgery. I
“Just is”– my new motto. I would have it tattooed on some part of my body if I were brave
Wednesday afternoons are reserved for my weekly doctor’s appointment. I clean off the sweat and dirt of a morning spent
What do you want to be when you grow up? Me, I wanted to be a therapist — a child therapist,
I am sitting upright now, a thing I haven’t been doing much of these last few days. Surgery on Tuesday went
Three months, give or take. I am, in a distance measured by time, three months down the road from the diagnosis and surgery