Cancer Stinks

Cancer really stinks.

Literally as much as figuratively.

EmmaTheDog is still with us. So is the giant tumor that droops from her cheek. When we noticed it in late February, it was the size of a small thumb. Now it's more like a kiwi. A solid mass of cancer that dangles from her lip when she drinks, shakes her head, and lies down to sleep. 

There is a scent that hangs around Emma like a storm cloud. Heavy. Dark. Threatening to burst. Fetid. 

It smells like death. Emma's bed (we call it her Cloud; have forever) is stained tonight with fresh slobber that's barely tinged pink. And it smells to high heaven. The Cloud is her go-to spot. It's her favorite walk-around-in-circles-till-the-folds-are-just-right nest.

Yesterday I sobbed when I thought of having to trash her bed. The smell was just so horrid!  Then I crammed every bit of it in the wash and bleached the heck out of it in the hottest setting. It came out smelling fresh and clean, like a second chance.

Less than 12 hours and the Cloud smells as it did yesterday. The tumor still sags in Emma's mouth. The entire house reeks. And still, Emma, well, she's still with us. She acts like a 16-year-old  dog with a lumpy mass in her mouth. Slow, not sick. Sometimes I wonder if she's so loyal that she fakes it so we won't know she's hurting. And I pray that God will tell us when she really is.

Retro

How many times have I called upon the wisdom of the Magic Eight Ball? 

I'd ask, but it only responds to yes or no queries. I wondered only because the 8-Ball appeared in a chapter book Benjy and I are reading. This is one hard concept to explain to a kid who has a DSi and Wii and knows nothing of floating dies in liquid dye.

Curious, I googled the clairvoyant of my youth. Did you know that there are 20 answers inside that ball? I had no idea.

Wikipedia lists them:

● It is certain

● It is decidedly so

● Without a doubt

● Yes – definitely

● You may rely on it

● As I see it, yes

● Most likely

● Outlook good

● Signs point to yes

● Yes

● Reply hazy, try again

● Ask again later

● Better not tell you now

● Cannot predict now

● Concentrate and ask again

● Don't count on it

● My reply is no

● My sources say no

● Outlook not so good

● Very doubtful

 

 

And now, for a mathematical connection (brought to you by Wikipedia), because I thought it was interesting, and therefore, you should, too:

 

10 of the possible answers are affirmative (●), 5 are negative (●), and 5 are non-committal (●). Using the Coupon collector's problem in probability theory, it can be shown that it takes, on average, 72^[3] questions of the Magic Eight Ball for all 20 of its answers to appear at least once.

My question tonight:

Will I be able to get up at 6 a.m. AND get to work on time tomorrow, the first day after spring break?

Answer:

very doubtful

I'll let you know how it really goes down.

EmmaLemmaLimaBean

EmmaLemmaLimaBean.

The smell is worthy of a name like cancer.

There it is. See it?

It hangs out of her lip.
Slings itself around like a
dagger.

It's gone to a lymph node on the same side.

That one feels like a pebble beneath her furry self.

And yet she still wags her tail

and begs for food

and yelps to go outside.

She sleeps a lot.

And she follows us from room to room

whenever she is awake.

She hangs out near Ein's cat food bowl

waiting for him to finish so she can scarf down the leftovers.

As if we didn't already feed her.

Oh, God, help us to know when she's not comfortable anymore.

Help us to know when it's time

for her to join Ellie and Candie and Harvey.

And even Dylan.

Help us all to be ready
for the day
when she will overcome.

Crowned, but not a queen

Of all the things to munch on and lose a crown - Japanese fried rice from Trader Joe's.

So I called my dentist to let him know that my temporary crown had popped off, and they rescheduled me for my permanent crown to be glued on today. Grateful, I was. No picture available.

Today:

EmmaTheDog chose a trip to the oncologist;

Benjy chose a play date;

Camden chose a trip to the New England Air Museum.

Emma's prognosis: Thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars of surgery and vaccines, and even radiation for melanoma cancer. God help us. We are praying. And what we are hearing is, "She's 16. She could die of old age tomorrow. Make her comfortable. Love her." (Please don't hate us. We're not financially wealthy; just spiritually. We love our Emma who has been with us since before we even wanted children of our own. We are realistic in spite of our hope. We just want to love her and hold her dear for the rest of her natural life.) And so we're leaning toward making her twilight days as happy as we can.

Benjy was happily playing with his friend while we cashed in our free tickets to the museum nearby. Camden patiently waited in line after line to sit in the cockpits of planes I've never heard of. He knew every one. Curt knew every one. Clearly, I was out of my element here. And my back was killing me. I found a chair, opened my Kindle app, and read for a bit (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close; no, I've not seen the movie.) Camden scored a model airplane kit for some World War II plane I'd never heard of. All were happy.

Spring break rocks. Even with a new crown that bestows no royalty whatsoever.

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

 I'm plowing through my stack of second-hand books and landed today on Anne Rivers Siddons' Islands. I knew it was promising when I read Pat Conroy's words of praise on the inside cover: "Anne Rivers Siddons has always written as though someone close to God was whispering to her." Within minutes, I was in the zone, breathing in the salty breezes of the South Carolina low country. Dreaming of sea oats and sand, hearing the surf pound the beaches.

 

At some point I caught a whiff of freshly mowed grass through the open window. So powerful were the images in my mind that I had to lay the book down and just be moved. I found myself in Miss Rigg's eighth grade English class, sitting in near the back of the first row, right beside Tara, near Rajesh, behind Laurie. The janitor pushed an old mower in straight lines on the bank outside the windows. From her desk at the front of the room, Miss Rigg was reading aloud. She was the first teacher to read aloud to us since my early elementary days, and I never knew I had missed it till then. This week in early spring, she was reading from Edgar Allen Poe. 

We were a silent lot, hanging on her every word, begging for more every day. 

    The Pit and the Pendulum.

        The Tell Tale Heart. 

            The Raven.  

                The Black Cat. 

Lovely days, those were, being 13 and heavily influenced by the likes of Poe and the scent of fresh cut grass.

Tomorrow I want to go back to my thrift store and see if I can find some more Siddons. I need to walk through the sea oats a few more times this spring break week. And if I'm really lucky, I'll find a raven perched on a bust of some placid dead guy. If that happens, you can bet I'll buy the bust and raven as a set.

 Some days it really does pay big bucks to be a teacher.

Mystic Seaport is hosting Educators Weekend today and tomorrow, allowing teachers and their families free admission to The Museum of America and the Sea. We saved more than $100 today (and spent only half as much in the book store. Don't judge.)

Benjy and I ran to our first photo op.

The museum is actually an entire village of shops, houses, school, church, bank, publisher, and all the trades necessary for a thriving ship building community.

Our wheels are spinning as to how to reproduce this backyard garden at our house.

Despite the sunny day, the air was nippy.
Benjy wanted to swim anyway.
We spotted jellyfish swarming near one dock.
The french fries at The Galley were delicious.
The landscaping borders were giant links of iron chain.

One of the many ships we boarded - check out the living quarters of that ship. 15 bunks crammed in there. I was claustrophobic just looking at it.

Lots of cannons both on land and ships.

The boys got to help build a barrel.
Coopers, they're called, the folks who make these.
Master craftsmen.

See above re: cannons.

This was one of my favorite ships - it was a blockade runner for Georgia during the Civil War. I swear, I could see the ghost of Rhett Butler on board. The Union Navy eventually captured the ship, presumably after Rhett  returned to Scarlet. ;) The museum built a ramp system over, into, and back out of the ship so you can tour the whole thing without risking bodily harm.

These deck prisms are one of my favorite ship details.

Of course the famous Charles W. Morgan, the last wooden whaling ship in the world, is the poster child of the museum. She's currently being restored, and tourists can walk through an exhibit overlooking the restoration and right into the actual ship. Wood from all over the United States is being used to restore her decking, hull, mast, and other parts I have no names for.

But the ship that stole my heart was the Amistad. 

In 1839, kidnapped Africans staged a revolt against their captors aboard La Amistad. The US Supreme Court - on appeal - ruled that the Africans had been captured and illegally moved and held as slaves. The surviving Africans returned home in 1842.

While the fate of the original La Amistad is unknown, this ship is a reproduction built at the Mystic Preservation Shipyard. It is currently in dry-dock, but has toured the Atlantic in recognition and commemoration of the abolition of the Atlantic slave trade.

Who is My Olivia?

Recently I read this blog post.

I love Flower Patch Farmgirl. She's hip, knows how to dress, writes beautifully, doesn't take herself too seriously. And every now and again she is so poignant, so painfully honest, so dead-on, that I find myself holding up a mirror to my own heart and cringing at what I see.

I really hope you read her story because it's just so, uh, well, so real. She and her family and friends are on a picnic at a park. A little girl she's named Olivia - her dirty t-shirt was stretched down over her tummy, though it didn't quite cover it. She had a far-away look in her eyes - lingered nearby, really near. Even sitting down at their table at one point. That near.

She looked like a girl that I didn't want around. I wanted other kinds of kids. Happier ones. Normaler ones. It would be alright if their pants didn't fit or their faces were filthy, but this one screamed needy. Different. Annoying. Broken.

She writes about her brutally honest thoughts, and then says, I hated myself for wondering and thanked the heavens above for the millionth time my thoughts are mine alone. No one had to know.

How many times do I wonder something that I would never utter aloud? How many times have I been the one who acted busy to avoid eye contact with an Olivia? How many Olivias have I met? How many Olivias do I know?

I am so far from where Jesus wants me to be. Sure, I can talk the talk. I can teach Bible to 7- and 8-year-olds and lead an occasional devotion at staff meetings. I can even pray out loud on command. But truth be told, my thoughts are not mine alone. My thoughts belong to God, and they are a reflection of my very own ugly heart.

If I am completely honest with myself, I can see that I have been acting and fooling nobody that matters. For I know that when I see an Olivia, I may not laugh out loud or whisper behind my hand. But I do wonder - She is so annoying; why won't she just be quiet? He doesn't have to hold a sign; he could get a job if he tried. A tube top? Really? I'd never wear that in public. I taught a girl once whose mom was an exotic dancer; and, yes, I told that story more than once.

My thoughts are not mine alone. God knows I sit in judgment of his children. He knows I have more work to do. He knows I'll not arrive till I get there.

Meanwhile, God was working on Flower Patch Farmgirl, too.

God and the sound of happy people lured her out from the house with the torn, dingy curtains. She wanted some of us and I needed all of her. I needed her in order to confront the ugliness of my heart that wants to pick and choose the marginalized that I love.   

And she has wrecked my thoughts for the past 48 hours. 

My own Olivias have crashed into my thoughts since I read this post many days ago. Only I'm just now pulling them out of my trunk and wrestling with them. I am left with new things to wonder about: What if I quit looking at tube tops and focused on hearts? What if I prayed for the man with the sign who would work for food - every single day? What if I really listened to the annoying people? What if God is using them to speak to me?

Google Earthlings

Once up on a time

Google Earth clicked on

this house

with the pool in the backyard

and a diving board

and real water

fresh and blue and splashy as water goes

and grasses green as spring

even as the trees were greenless. 

A handsome prince and his

graying princess 

bought this

Google Earth home

well-knowing that the pool

with the splashy water

was no more

but they liked the grass

and the rooftop

and the tallness of the trees

that eventually turned green.

After settling in,

the royal pair 

threw up a redneck pool,

ripped off the shutters

and flung them on a tarp

for a fresh coat of paint,

killed the grass,

and switched to cable 

because the trees were too tall

for Direct TV.

The rooftop

they kept

because it was solid

and not to mention

nice.

But they missed the pretty pool

with the splashy water 

that was bigger than the redneck

pool.

If only the owner had kept it....

Then the handsome prince 

and his graying princess

met a couple

who had super powers

and a nearby house

that Google Earth

clicked on one day

in the dead of summer

when the surrounding yards 

were brown

brown, brown,

brown. 

Oasis! 

screeched the princess.

Oasis! 

The handsome prince 

and graying princess

now mooch

off these friends

with the super powers

in hopes of finding green grass

in their own back yard

and perhaps one day

a real pool

with lots of splashy water.

And maybe some lawn mower stripes, too.

He has risen!

Just as He promised!

Nine Pictures

Love letters from Daddy to Mom from very shortly after they met. Daddy was living in Marion training and working for an investigative company he doesn't mention by name. Apparently, Mom swept him right off his feetm and he commuted to Norton every weekend to see her. I loved this little glimpse into their past. Thanks for stashing these in the Michelle box, Mom.

A giant hole in my back yard may one day become a pond, but for now it's a Star Wars base.

It includes an elevator, 

shuttle bay, 

 

and secret hidey-holes for clones and clone accessories.

Nothing but gorgeous skies, even if it's been chilly.

Perhaps the best part: Curt overnighted a dozen Krystal fried apple pies to me. They're really fried, not baked, so they're extra delish.

The boys tested for their next belts Friday evening. Both were called to demonstrate their forms together as bros. Cool.

Camden thinking about something secretive. I know what it is. :)

He Reigns

Nothing like spontaneous praise and worship tunes today. 

This is one of 2nd grade's favorites. 

And one of mine, too.

What's a Phone Book???

I fondly remember the days when I used the good old Wise County phone book which was the size of, say, Good Dog, Clifford or Frog and Toad Are Friends. Now it seems obsolete. So what do I find on my porch when I come home? Not one, not two, but THREE dingdang phone books that I'm gonna recycle right away. Who uses these things anymore??????

 

Beta Dog

Please don't focus on the chippy table legs or the gallon can of Mellow Yellow paint left over from painting the kitchen or the cat food box or the electric cords snaking around the heater. 

Just look at my dog. 

EmmaLemmLimaBean is sitting all sphinxy like waiting for Ein to devour his portion of cat food so that she can saunter over and finish it off. She's too afraid of the cat to demand her share now, not that she has rights to the cat food. Just let it be known that my dog is the beta while my cat is the alpha. Indeed, they are different species, but apparently that is beside the point.

Spring Mantel

 b       b                             egg

  l    b  l                          egg   

b  o   l  o                              egg

 l s   o   s                      egg bunny egg

 o s   s   s                         egg      egg

  so  s   o                     egg           egg

  s mo   m                     egg    egg      egg

   om\  /                     egg         egg   egg

    m\ /                           bunny       egg  

     \/      bird   bird   bird          | bunny

    vase     nest   nest   nest          |

    vase      bed   bed    bed           |

    vase    s r n   p i g s r n         / \

    vase     p i g s r n   p i g       /   \

mantelmantelmantelmantelmantelmantelmantelmantelmantel

By the Numbers

This post is completely inspired by Juliann's 31st slice at Notes From a Wide-Open Life. Thanks, Juliann!

March ~ By the Numbers

31 mornings thinking about what to blog

31 nights blogging

100s of comments made

$340 to diagnose EmmaTheDog with melanoma

4.5 novels read

21 school nights

21 school lunches packed

7 karate classes for the boys

7 karate classes for me

1 skip day for each of us

1 new crown

5 bags of coffee

1 week being a vegan

6 pounds lost

Innumerable prayers of thanks

Innumerable prayers of needs

9 months of Tuesdays to keep slicing in 2012

Kung Fu Fighting

I love my boys. As I should.
I love their yells.
I love their kicks and punches.
I love their bravery.
I love their togetherness.
I love that somebody told me today that my boys look just like me.
I love my boys.

Really, Really, Really

Tomorrow I'll show this sentence to my second graders:

The room was really, really messy.

Then I'll reveal this:

All seven pillows that belong on the couch are strewn across the floor. Legos in reds, greens, blues, and yellows are scattered on the hardwood beside three dirty socks. The rug is dotted with crumbs from Benjy's morning Pop-Tart. And tumbleweeds of dog hair roll into the corners.  Does anybody care how this room looks? EinTheCat sits in the windowsill stalking birds in the trees. He doesn't care. EmmaTheDog snoozes on the couch where the pillows used to be. She doesn't care. Benjy and Camden could watch TV in a pig sty. They don't care. "Am I the only one who finds this room revolting?" I ask myself as I stoop to pick up the pillows.

Tonight I'm just left here wondering if my students will think Mrs. Richert's house is really, really messy, or Mrs. Richert really needs to watch more TV.

10 Things

Ten little things I can live without:

* reality TV

* Oreos

* romance novels

* spike heels

* all those women talking on daytime TV

* People magazine

* fast cars

* white walls

* bikinis

* manicures

Ten little things I prefer not to live without:

* a dog

* a washing machine

* yellow walls

* a feather pillow

* novels

* the internet

* National Public Radio

* naps

* karate 

* sand between my toes

3 Things

As a get-to-know-you at our first small group home fellowship this spring, we played the Deserted Island game. We had to choose three things we'd take with us if we were stranded on a deserted island. One had to be a book; one a CD; and one a movie. We were all just living with the absurd assumption that we'd be able to enjoy these things once there.

I had no trouble with the book and movie - Pat Conroy's Beach Music and Gone With the Wind. But the music stumped me. I could not for the life of me think of something I would want to listen to for the rest of my life. Being the second one to go (aaack!), I blurted out the BeeGees.

Segue to today's National Geographic Explorer article we read in 2nd grade - Islands. I thought it would be interesting to see what my kids would choose to bring to a deserted island with them. I opened the parameters for them - three things: one had to be a book, the other two could be toys or objects. Families and pets would be with you. I heard a lot about book sets for Judy Moody and Magic Tree House. I love how they knew a set could be a single object. :) I heard about maps and compasses and flashlights, Bakugan toys and stuffed animals and sleeping bags, DSi's and laptops and iPhones. I heard not a single mention of disco.   What is this world coming to?

Anticipation

Finally, the email notice arrived today.

Complete with tracking details.

Now I won't have to change my name.

Mrs. Richert, when will our books be here?
Mrs. Richert, are our books here?

Mrs. Richert, did I order books this time?

Mrs. Richert, umm, ummmmm, I forgot. 

Oh yeah, Mrs. Richert? Are the books here yet?

Tomorrow I can answer:  
No, my sweets. Our books just departed Jefferson City, Missouri, and they're supposed to be here by Thursday. The next time you wonder about the books, you should say, "UPS, where in the world are our books?" UPS will be handling all your book order inquiries till Thursday.