When I was home over the weekend, I did a lot of knitting. Before we left, I made my dad a Kufi-style hat out of Debbie Bliss Aran cotton, so when he goes through chemo, he’ll have something soft to wear, if he chooses. A damn good looking hat, if I say so myself. Then, I finished his socks, and I think he was touched by how custom-fit they were, and was struck by how warm they are. Handknit socks truly are a magnificent piece of knitting. Not stopping there, I pulled out the skein of Artyarns merino (hand-dyed in a slatey-blue colorway) and made a roll-brim hat for him, too. Now he has choices, depending on how warm he wants to be. And he looks damn good in hats! I knit the second hat at lightning speed, and astonished most everyone. (Thanks to JWo for rubbing my hands when I was done….)

It’s interesting, I didn’t take pictures of any of the finished objects – maybe because what they represented to me was both a little bit painful, and knowing that the emotional energy poured into those things could never be fully captured in a photo. I have wonderful pictures in my mind, of him wearing each of the hats, and the socks, too. They are my small hand-crafted hugs to him, since I can’t be there every day. I gave Brenda (his wife) a shawl I’d knit out of tartelette & told her to wrap it around herself whenever she wanted to feel a hug as well. Fancy hug, with fringe.

Hugs come in all shapes, styles & forms.

That’s a great line from “True Romance”. It captures the essence of my whole weekend, and while I’d love to be brilliant & write all kinds of things and tell you all the stories, I’m wiped out. It may take a long time to get to that point. I’m on a pendulum that swings between high hopes & abject grief, and I don’t really see it stopping anytime soon.

We had a wonderful visit. Many tears were shed, many smiles, many long lingering hugs. It is a blessing and a curse, you know, to be told you have terminal cancer. It means you’re going to die (time: unknown) and it means you have time (unknown), to cherish every moment and put your life in a little bit of order. Unfortunately, it means you & everyone else’s heart breaks every day. Mine is breaking all over again, and I can’t write much more. So, I give you the excerpt from one of my father’s most favorite movies. Pretty much sums it all up.

I kept asking Clarence why our world
seemed to be collapsing…

and everything seemed so shitty,
and he’d say,

“That’s the way it goes.

But don’t forget:
It goes the other way too.”

Seriously, sometimes it’s a wonder I am able to leave the house. How do I even find the door, (without walking into it)?!?

Does “Tide to Go” work on keyboards? Is this my passive-aggressive way of getting a new computer? Is this a sign that working through lunch is not a good thing? Good thing it wasn’t curry. You can’t shake that out.

Good thing I met & married JWo. He knows me so well & knows what will make me laugh or what kind of wacko website I would find hilarious.

Yesterday, he sent me a site all about pimpin’ your snacks. Because the world needs a 14″ peanut butter cup!

And, apparently the kids at school were selling pickles to raise money for a field trip. And they put notes in all the teachers’ mailboxes, beseeching them NOT TO USE THE PICKLES AS PUNISHMENT. (As in, if you don’t do your homework, you can’t buy a pickle.)

Good times. I may have to start threatening my reps I’m gonna get Vlasic on their ass.

But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around
Turns you around

If you feel discouraged
When there’s a lack of color here
Please don’t worry lover
It’s really bursting at the seams
Absorbing everything
The spectrum’s A to Z

…from “A Lack of Color” by Death Cab for Cutie. One of my favorite songs right now, and the words floated into my head last night while I reflected on a single sharp moment in my book club, sharp like a shard of glass, reflecting light.

We sat outside, and while it was a little cool, the wind swirled around us, and I was at the end of the patio table. My dear friend Phyllis was talking, and as I looked at her, it was as though I was looking at a photograph. There was Arlo to her left, with his son Cameron on his knee, and as I saw this arrangement of life in front of me, jumping from 2 to 39 to 65, all of the colors and lines and features seemed to sharpen, giving me vision I wished I had every day, it felt as though my own eyes fixed themselves, that I had developed not only 20/20 vision, but that I was suddenly given the gift of clarity.

While I may wish for the vision, I don’t think I could handle a daily existence of full clarity, because after the moment passed, I had to pinch the skin at the top of my nose where it slides into my forehead, a mannerism that I use to keep the tears at bay. It is strange to be filled with so much sadness and love simultaneously; I always believed if I had enough love, I would never be sad. They are inextricably linked, but I would not sacrifice love to be relieved of sadness.

I took some pictures of all my finished objects yesterday – I have been bad about updating on the knitting front, but I have finished two scarves & two pairs of socks, plus a third pair on the needles. (for my dad; I feel like hand-knit socks are hugs for your feet.)

I would put all the pictures in here but our internet connection at work is a PITA. And I have a hundred things to do today. So! If you care to click on my Flickr badge over there on the right, the first bunch of photos/most recent are of the Noro scarf, the Opera scarf, the beaded hand-dyed socks, the On Line bright self-patterned socks, and the blue/green socks for my dad. I’m also going to knit him a lightweight hat, like a Kufi-style hat, so if he loses his hair & wants something soft for his head, he will have it.

Oh, look, the little gerbils started running on the wheel & the internet’s going a little faster:

On Line socks

And now the gerbils are taking a smoke break. No wonder they can’t power the wheel more than five minutes at a time. Damn smokin’ gerbils.

OK, this is one motherfucking rollercoaster we’re all on. Dad’s got the front seat & all the rest of us were snatched up at gunpoint to ride this thing and we’re in various positions of clusterfuck seating. Pardon all the swearing, I’m feeling rather colorful and angry today.

I spoke with my dad twice yesterday evening, and his spirits were excellent. He actually enjoyed his first radiation treatment, because, as he put it, it felt good to know they were killing those motherfucking cells. Kill! Kill! and then we both started doing the bit from Arlo Guthrie’s Thanksgiving Massacree about how he was sayin’ keeel keel, jumpin’ up and down and we were both shoutin’ Keeel Keel and I wanna see blood and guts and veins in my teeth and my god, it was good to not be crying. (if you haven’t heard that piece, just know my father & I were not actually jumping up and down.)

We are definitely going up there next weekend (barring any nosedives on this rollercoaster); my aunt will also be there, and Brenda’s daughter will be back in school & her son will be with his dad – so we will be able to stay with him. I was prepared to stay in a motel (somewhere), so he’d also have his space, but he sounded happy & excited to have us all together. The part of me that lives in my brain, perhaps it is the old wise gnome who wakes up a little bit more each year I’m alive, knows and tells me that there are a thousand more ascents and descents on this ride we’re on. Right now I’m clinging to the seat back, grateful we are in a semi-flat part of the ride this morning, that the sun is shining and I don’t see the plunging-into-darkness terror in front of me today. It probably also helped that I had my doctor give me something to help me sleep, and for the first time last night, I didn’t have the hamster wheel creaking & spinning behind my eyes while I stared into the dark, waiting to sleep. (She gave me something that is also prescribed as an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety. Bonus!)

Today is a new day. My husband just rolled by the house on our new (used, yay eBay!) riding lawn mower & I thought the noise was coming from our neighbors. It made me laugh. The smell of fresh-cut grass is awesome. Thank you again for all your emails & comments, your sympathy & prayers. I will hopefully be able to blog about some other things soon, joyful & funny & bitchy. Today, I leave you with a picture. My knit night friend Peg just got a 7-wk old lab pup, Sam, and she brought him to knit night, where he got to meet Remy, the 4 & 1/2 month old siamese kitten. Damn funny stuff. (I used my phone camera so forgive the quality…)

The cancer has spread to my father’s brain. Radiation begins today, chemo to follow. Second opinions to follow as well. At least we have action & steps & things to do while the question of where the cancer is coming from is still to be determined. I hate hearing him cry. Perhaps that is the price we eventually pay for a society that doesn’t want a man to cry, ever, so he is always the rock, the strong man, the wise and knowing being who never wavers, and yet sometimes life throws huge curve balls that bring you to your knees.

He wants to be alone. I so desperately want to hold him, see the wrinkles around his eyes as he squints at me with his sardonic humor. He wants and needs alone, because that is how we are. We rebuild and fortify in solitude, find our center, help us get off our knees. I turned and screamed through a snotty blur at a co-worker yesterday, “I CAN’T BE AROUND ANYONE RIGHT NOW”. She was trying to offer to drive me home, bless her heart. I called later to apologize, but I needed, REQUIRED my solitude at that point. To sit and hang on the steering wheel and sob until my chest hurt, then to drive home, so slowly, bobbing my head rythmically, counting silently over and over, as I resealed and respackled the fissures and cracks in my heart so I could function another day. And I’m not the one fighting cancer.

So I will wait. And daily reseal and respackle and accept that I will not have a single day for a while, where my eye makeup stays on all day. And I feel gratitude to everyone who lets me be this way, who doesn’t judge or tell me what I should do. That is a gift, and I am blessed to have so many people who care and are praying and want to see this whole thing turn out well. I thank you from the bottom of my broken little heart.

The email signature of a sales rep, who has no idea how much the words meant to me:

When the World says Give Up

Hope Whispers, Try One More Time

I have subscribed to the Hazelden Gift of the Day email for over six years – I found it after I failed to get my mother to enter their treatment program. Funny thing was, she just didn’t think drinking an entire bottle of vodka and almost dying was really indicative of a problem. I’m always the CRAZY one! {Insert big moose-hand rapid-waving by my ears here.} Sometimes the emails don’t do much for me, sometimes I save them for their poignancy & appropriateness – and today’s couldn’t have been more spot-on. So I share it with you, as I climb back into my hamster wheel & try to wait patiently for more news. I’m thinking of embroidering “No situation is more than we can handle” into my forearm.

Courage is fear that has said its prayers.
— Dorothy Bernard

No one of us is always courageous. With trepidation we embark on many journeys. Fear is dispelled each time we rely on our inner strength and trust that our lives are in good hands.

Self-talk is powerful and will prepare us to meet whatever lies ahead today. Self-talk is like prayer and quiets our fears, making it possible to give our full attention to the events transpiring. Self-talk, when positive, cultivates a healthy self-image, one that offers security, even in the face of disaster. We all carry on a dialogue with ourselves much of the time. Taking charge of the messages — making sure they enhance our personal well being — is an option always available to us.

No situation is more than we can handle. Whatever courage or strength is needed is as close as our willingness to go within, to commune with ourselves.

I must own my fears before I can let them go. Courage follows closely on their departing footsteps.

I had a good conversation with my father late today, no real news, that will be tomorrow, and even then, they still do not know where the source of the cancer is. But treatment (radiation) has been mentioned, and really, all I wanted to hear was him sounding so much better, which he did. He is out of patience for everyone rushing around as though he is about to die. He suggested perhaps the influx of visitors and well-wishers bring pointy sticks with them, so they can poke him & see that, in fact, he is still alive. Once I know what the next steps are, I will plan to visit him and, well, poke him with a stick. He invited it.

Tonight is the least obsessed I have been in five days. That’s not saying the obsession and rumination and big hamster wheelin’ ain’t happening, but it’s at least half a step down from code red. or code purple. Who knows what code level I’ve attained lately.

Here’s the funny part. Someone found my blog today, by searching for the word “dickcakes”. I thought, when in hell have I ever even USED that word? And why was I surprised to discover, that indeed, I did say it.

Scrotum Pie. There. Now another wacko can find me.