a radio was on.

Kyle is working round-the-clock right now, so I wanted to let you all know that I had a set of scans last week that showed nothing. As in the cancer had neither increased nor decreased. This is good news. I have these scans every three months to see if the cancer has managed to mutate in a way that the medicine no longer treats, and now I am good for another three months. I had a great talk with my therapist--if you are close to me, you know I love my therapist in a way that makes it confusing to me that I can't just have her over for seder--and she helped me understand my grief at hearing the news that the scans were fine. What I really wanted to hear, in the world of fantastic miracles, the land where you open a wardrobe door and tumble into Narnia, is that I don't have cancer anymore. So I had to muddle my way to gratitude over the last couple of days. In the next three months I hope to write more, read more, eat meals with friends and families more, and spend some real time

Kyle is working round-the-clock right now, so I wanted to let you all know that I had a set of scans last week that showed nothing. As in the cancer had neither increased nor decreased. This is good news. I have these scans every three months to see if the cancer has managed to mutate in a way that the medicine no longer treats, and now I am good for another three months. I had a great talk with my therapist--if you are close to me, you know I love my therapist in a way that makes it confusing to me that I can't just have her over for seder--and she helped me understand my grief at hearing the news that the scans were fine. What I really wanted to hear, in the world of fantastic miracles, the land where you open a wardrobe door and tumble into Narnia, is that I don't have cancer anymore. So I had to muddle my way to gratitude over the last couple of days. In the next three months I hope to write more, read more, eat meals with friends and families more, and spend some real tim

A thing for fools, this, Love, But a holy thing, To love what death can touch. Judah Halevi wrote these word--he was a doctor and a poet who was born in Spain in 1075. He died in Israel, in 1141. I wake and feel the deep wracking cough of my child before I am woke and my own bones, aching and riddled with cancer (how much? and how much is too much?), drag me from my bed to get the thick, syrupy elixir to him before he realizes there is a whole night out here, with the possibility of television, tucked in snug, next to me. I wrote those words last night and friends, of late, it has been a darker time for me, where loving feels like grieving too much. It might be the edge of winter pressing in. Zoe and I walked yesterday in the bog, which was gray and dreary. The wind bit us, and then two gorgeous, wildly groomed standard poodles were suddenly leaping at us with joy, but they were too much, and scratched my cold hand in their hello, and I was angry at the woman walking them off leash, sc

A thing for fools, this, Love, But a holy thing, To love what death can touch. Judah Halevi wrote these word--he was a doctor and a poet who was born in Spain in 1075. He died in Israel, in 1141. I wake and feel the deep wracking cough of my child before I am woke and my own bones, aching and riddled with cancer (how much? and how much is too much?), drag me from my bed to get the thick, syrupy elixir to him before he realizes there is a whole night out here, with the possibility of television, tucked in snug, next to me. I wrote those words last night and friends, of late, it has been a darker time for me, where loving feels like grieving too much. It might be the edge of winter pressing in. Zoe and I walked yesterday in the bog, which was gray and dreary. The wind bit us, and then two gorgeous, wildly groomed standard poodles were suddenly leaping at us with joy, but they were too much, and scratched my cold hand in their hello, and I was angry at the w

I have been postponing writing this blog entry for a couple of days now because I needed to write about two seemingly disparate themes, and was sure some grand poetic gesture would occur to me that would pull the topics together into something nice to read, something to eat while you are giving yourself time to eat more pie (and I say, definitely eat more pie). But nothing came to me and the two subjects at hand are 1) Charles Manson and 2) Thanksgiving, But, first. Last night I was reading Asher and Elijah "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." This evening's reading was made almost excruciatingly poignant by the fact that Avery was there, at first just listening, just as she and Zoe had listened when she was seven and Zoe was five, and I read the same book to them. This is one of the unusual gifts of having groups of children (there should be a word like a murder of crows or a coven of witches, but a nicer word, like oval, an oval of children, or a poem of children-

I have been postponing writing this blog entry for a couple of days now because I needed to write about two seemingly disparate themes, and was sure some grand poetic gesture would occur to me that would pull the topics together into something nice to read, something to eat while you are giving yourself time to eat more pie (and I say, definitely eat more pie). But nothing came to me and the two subjects at hand are 1) Charles Manson and 2) Thanksgiving, But last night I was reading Asher and Elijah "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." This evening's reading was made almost excruciatingly poignant by the fact that Avery was there, at first just listening, just as she and Zoe had listened when she was seven and Zoe was five, and I read the same book to her. This is one of the unusual gifts of having groups of children (there should be a word like a murder of crows or a coven of witches, but a nicer word, like oval, an oval of children, or a poem of children, nope that&#

Three times a day, I slip two wafers of methadone onto my tongue and chase them down with cool water. I was exhausted several days ago, and twice in a twenty-four hour period, missed the time to take the methadone and woke up from deep sleeping to real pain. Which was a good lesson because methadone is a great pain medication and had lulled me into believing I might not need the methadone because I wasn't in pain. I understand the looniness of the logic, but the fact that I am taking methadone (and this would be so if you subbed in any other similarly situated drug) prevents me from driving, which has made my life circumscribed in a beautiful, often vexing manner. So if I didn't somehow need methadone anymore, wouldn't that be grand? My life takes place, with some exceptions, in three places. My home, which I love. MGH. And the cranberry bog down the street from my home--which is almost unspeakably beautiful. I am feeling stronger, and have been able to walk in the bog almo

Three times a day, I slip two wafers of methadone onto my tongue and chase them down with cool water. I was exhausted several days ago, and twice in a twenty-four hour period, missed the time to take the methadone and woke up from deep sleeping to real pain. Which was a good lesson because methadone is a great pain medication and had lulled me into believing I might not need the methadone because I wasn't in pain. I understand the looniness of the logic, but the fact that I am taking methadone (and this would be so if you subbed in any other similarly situated drug) prevents me from driving, which has made my life circumscribed in a beautiful, often vexing manner. So if I didn't somehow need methadone anymore, wouldn't that be grand? My life takes place, with some exceptions, in three places. My home, which I love. MGH. And the cranberry bog down the street from my home--which is almost unspeakably beautiful. I am feeling stronger, and have been able to walk in the bog a

My older children, especially Zachary, are fond of one particular legend from the Salem witch trials. In 1692, Ann Putnam, Jr., Marcy Lewis, Abigail Williams, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Mary Walcott (five girls, in a way, all teenagers) accused Giles Corey of being a witch. At this point in the dark unfolding of accusations, hangings, and the dissolution of family and town alike, the trial was a well-oiled machine. Wiitches could save themselves from hanging only by perversely confessing to being a witch and providing a set of convincing details, most of which were borrowed from the storyline provided by Tituba, a woman who was enslaved by the minister of Salem, who, once accused, held the courtroom rapt with her stories of meeting the devil in the woods at night, signing his book, and (my favorite detail) suffering when a small yellow bird lit between her fingers and sharply pecked at her. When she spoke of the bird, the accusing girls writhed in pain, "seeing" the same bird fli

My older children, especially Zachary, are fond of one particular legend from the Salem witch trials. In 1692, Ann Putnam, Jr., Marcy Lewis, Abigail Williams, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Mary Walcott (five girls, in a way, all teenagers) accused Giles Corey of being a witch. At this point in the dark unfolding of accusations, hangings, and the dissolution of family and town alike, the trial was a well-oiled machine. Wiitches could save themselves from hanging only by perversely confessing to being a witch and providing a set of convincing details, most of which were borrowed from the storyline provided by Tituba, a woman who was enslaved by the minister of Salem, who, once accused, held the courtroom rapt with her stories of meeting the devil in the woods at night, signing his book, and (my favorite detail) suffering when a small yellow bird lit between her fingers and sharply pecked at her. When she spoke of the bird, the accusing girls writhed in pain, "seeing" the same bir

To go into the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. --Wendell Berry. It took me aback to see that I had not posted for about six weeks, but I can tell you that the reason why is the dark of which Wendell Berry speaks. There are days when I can share the sweetest sentences of five-year olds, the comfort of a dear friend's words, or even the joy of regaining strength and aptitude in my body, which I have, as the treatment continues to fight my cancer. But I have been sitting with grief of late, and it is hard and it is uncomfortable and it won't leave me alone. Every morning I wake up and for one split second I think I am in my old life and then I remember: I have cancer. And this tremendous weight falls right back into me, like a dark heavy shadow that has been hovering over me as I sleep, waiting to be invited back in by my awakened self. And I want to run away from my own truths, that I have cancer, and that I'm in grieving for the life I thou

To go into the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. --Wendell Berry. It took me aback to see that I had not posted for about six weeks, but I can tell you that the reason why is the dark of which Wendell Berry speaks. There are days when I can share the sweetest sentences of five-year olds, the comfort of a dear friend's words, or even the joy of regaining strength and aptitude in my body, which I have, as the treatment continues to fight my cancer. But I have been sitting with grief of late, and it is hard and it is uncomfortable and it won't leave me alone. Every morning I wake up and for one split second I think I am in my old life and then I remember: I have cancer. And this tremendous weight falls right back into me, like a dark heavy shadow that has been hovering over me as I sleep, waiting to be invited back in by my awakened self. And I want to run away from my own truths, that I have cancer, and that I'm in grieving for the life I

I could not be more proud of Stephanie, Cameron, and Avery, all of whom are running a half marathon this morning in honor of Tracy. They are running with the Ropes team and have collectively raised $4,265 for the benefit of Dana-Farber. Good luck this morning! http://www.rundanafarber.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=1172168&lis=1&kntae1172168=FA28D46E4D764C7182539AB878203020&supId=0&team=6955533&cj=Y

I wanted to report that Tracy had a brain MRI recently, and it came back clean. Tracy has been experiencing some unpleasant side effects from her meds, so a brain MRI was done to rule out the possibility that the cancer had migrated to her brain. It had not. If you’ve never had a brain MRI before, lucky you. They are awful. Tracy had her MRI done in an open MRI, which isn’t really so open (but far better than the alternative). There’s a little mirror positioned so that the person being imaged can see out of the tube. To enable us to see each other throughout the MRI, I leaned over so my head was basically on Tracy’s lap. It’s too loud during the MRI to hear anyone, but our eyes could speak to each other. Anyway, Tracy was a total champ despite being put in a tube with a mask over her face for well over an hour all the while being terrified that the cancer may have progressed. The great news is that the MRI results are additional evidence that the targeted therapy Tracy is on is working

I wanted to report that Tracy had a brain MRI recently, and it came back clean. Tracy has been experiencing some unpleasant side effects from her meds, so a brain MRI was done to rule out the possibility that the cancer had migrated to her brain. It had not. If you’ve never had a brain MRI before, lucky you. They are awful. Tracy had her MRI done in an open MRI, which isn’t really so open (but far better than the alternative). There’s a little mirror positioned so that the person being imaged can see out of the tube. To enable us to see each other throughout the MRI, I leaned over so my head was basically on Tracy’s lap. It’s too loud during the MRI to hear anyone, but our eyes could speak to each other. Anyway, Tracy was a total champ despite being put in a tube with a mask over her face for well over an hour all the while being terrified that the cancer may have progressed. The great news is that the MRI results are additional evidence that the targeted therapy Tracy is on is working

I could not be more proud of Stephanie, Cameron, and Avery, all of whom are running a half marathon this morning in honor of Tracy. They are running with the Ropes team and have collectively raised $4,265 for the benefit of Dana-Farber. Good luck this morning! http://www.rundanafarber.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=1172168&lis=1&kntae1172168=FA28D46E4D764C7182539AB878203020&supId=0&team=6955533&cj=Y

As I failed to get the volume button to respond on the remote, Asher remarked to a visiting five-year old friend, “My mom isn’t good at using the television. She’s not good at anything.” Visiting five year old (clearly not raised by wolves): “She must be good at something. Everyone is good at something.” Asher: “She’s good at sleeping.” Couple of take-aways. I’m not ashamed of the fact that I am not good at using the television. It’s part intellectual snobbery (have you guys ever seen how easy it is to open a book?), and part an acceptance of a deep inability of my brain to get interested in and then think through how anything in the world works (not sure what order those two come in, but I may have it backwards in the sentence). If I have a toaster with four slices that only cooks two slices, we will live with that toaster for years until either someone gets us another one, or the intersection of me feeling flush with cash (rare) intersects with me standing in a Home Goods store (equa