Hint of Pink

Hint of pink is a lovely bunch o f blue

flowers in a pink tinted vase.

Acrylic on 6x8 canvas panel.

To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

Half-Way Hump and My New Lady Lump

I got through number 6. That means I am half-way through my scheduled chemo regimen. I've been through a lot and it's quite rewarding to look back at how far I've come. However, the taste in my mouth is bittersweet right now. I know I'm over the hump which is hugely exciting, but I also know that I have a whole new set of what I've already went through that lies ahead. What I can only hope is that it will be easier, more predictable and that I will continue to grow stronger and stronger as the cancer fades away. I know this will be the case. 

The good news is that I made it through my port-a-cath insertion on Wednesday, just hours before my sixth chemo infusion. Right now my chest and neck are extremely sore from the procedure but once that fades I know I'll be forever grateful for this handy-dandy vein access. It hurts to lift or pull anything with my right arm and it's very hard to sleep on it though I've been very tired since Wednesday. My skin feels painfully stretched over this new lump in my chest where the port now sticks out. The muscles around the veins ache where the port line was jammed through. The nurse told me that because I am very thin in my chest area and am also athletic and therefore have strong neck muscles, I'll be much sorer than a little old lady with a lot more flesh and no muscle. My head was turned to the left during the entire procedure and continually forced as they shimmied the plastic little sucker down my major vein - hence the stiff neck. 

The procedure went smoothly starting bright and early Wednesday morning at 7:15 a.m. My nurse was fantastic, so reassuring and understanding. I admit, I was pretty nervous about the whole thing for some reason but she and Craig kept me laughing during all the surgery prep and helped me feel much more at ease -- the Adavan she gave me when she saw that my leg wouldn't stop bopping up and down with anxiety didn't hurt either. It took her a long time to find a viable vein to send my IV into for the anesthesia to enter through. She ended up in my hand, remarking that she wouldn't touch my ruined arm veins "for all the tea in China." This helped to reaffirm my decision to opt for the port. She used a pediatric needle and told me to breath through it. I told her how I never used to be bothered by needles but that now it makes me woozy. She explained that after getting stuck as many times as I have no one can get used to it. It's one thing to get blood drawn once a year, another to get stuck every week. That made me feel better. 

After the port surgery Craig passed the "taking care of Karin baton" to my mom who arrived with some food and to take me to my chemo session. I arrived pretty woozy and tired coming down from my "twilight" state. They gave me a super comfy fleece blanket and I reclined deeply into the chemo throne. It was fantastic having the chemo drugs enter through my port. I felt nothing. No pain from the little needle prick. No burning as the drugs went through. No hot and cold sensations. No arm soreness. I think I can get used to this.

What I don't know that I'll ever get used to is the huge bump that now sticks out of my chest. It looks like a big button that if pressed will do something super cool like release a parachute or shoot out lasers, but unfortunately it does none of that. It just sits there creepily. You can even see the tube of the port-a-cath that now lives within my vein. But this is just par for the course. I've learned to take the bad with the good. It's only temporary and the day this is removed will be a strong symbol representing the end of this battle.  

Scent of Blue

Scent of blue is an acrylic painting on a 6x8 canvas panel.

Original artwork. To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

My Sunglasses

My Sunglasses is a watercolor on

#140 Arches cotton paper. 5x7.

To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com.

Pear

Pear. 7x10 Watercolor on #140

Arches cotton paper.

To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

My shadow at Crater Lake

Beach Therapy

I am feeling about 95%. Feeling very strong, very normal, very me. With each recent treatment it seems I'm recovering further, getting much closer to my normal self before the next treatment. Much improved over the first few treatments. Let's hope this trend continues. I know I had several days of fatigue and acheyness, but it seems like forever ago. 

This weekend my parents "kidnapped" Craig and me for a day away in Rhode Island. My little brother (who despite being seven years younger than me, towers nearly a foot over me) joined in on the road trip too. So it was me, Mike and Craig getting nice and cozy across the back seat of my parents car, Dad behind the wheel, mom manning the music and AC/open window swapping. 

Like three five-year-olds we entertained ourselves in the back seat by pinching a clothespin onto odd places like my mom's ear or the back of each other's arms. Though I was squished between two grown men, I couldn't pick two that I'd rather be rubbing sweaty shoulders with for two hours. 

We stopped to stuff our faces with fried goodness at a forever family favorite: Cap'n Jacks for fish and chips, fried whole-belly clams, scallops and greasy French fries. It certainly hit the spot - the perfect antithesis to my collard greens and rice cakes diet of late. 

Then it was to da beach. The weather was perfect - 80s, but a nice breeze so you didn't feel like a sweaty mess. Narragansett Beach was packed, beach chairs and blankets with scantily clad bodies packed in tight like sardines, but we found a spot and settled in. 

Michael and I headed for the waves, despite the bone-chilling temp of the water. I came to the beach to swim and having grown up on many years of cold Cape Cod waters each summer, I know the trick of a quick dive under the water to shock the body into adjusting to Atlantic Ocean temps. I LOVE body surfing. Anticipating the right wave and timing it perfectly so that you ride the crest all the way in, then getting your body wrecked as the wave crashes and forces you into the sand is one of my favorite activities. 

I had my white bandana tied tight on my head to block the rays and not freak people out. I don't know what made me think that would stay on. It's been raining like crazy for weeks so the ocean was particularly tumultous. After the first wave took me under that sucker was long gone. Suprise everyone! Bald girl riding the waves. 

"I'd rather you lose your bandana than your top," says my brother after I muscle my way back out to him at the wave break line. True that, I thought. 

After a walk with Craig to the breaker it was max and relax time. Surrounded by my favorite people in the world I spread out on the Mexican blanket and fell asleep to the sounds of my mom and dad talking and Craig and Michael tossing the aerobie. So content. 

Then we mozied back to reality stopping for ice cream and iced coffees then take-home pizza along the way. 

My belly was full. My heart was happy. My skin tight from the salt and sun. My bathing suit and bottom full of itchy sand. A perfect summer day. 

Unfortunately, I know these feelings won't last. After Wednesday it'll be several more days before I can think about body surfing again. Wednesday is going to be a very big day. At 7:15 a.m. my mom and I will be at Jefferson Radiology to have my port-a-cath surgically placed in my chest. I had a consultation today which helped calm my nerves some and helped me to better understand the great advantages of this creepy little device. From the "twilight" state I'll be in after the port insertion, it'll be a drive over to the cancer center where I'll jump right into my sixth chemo session ... this time through my newly minted port. If all goes well, the whole process will be faster and there'll be no pain from needles or the drugs themselves. Thank God I have my mom to make sure I make it to where I need to be and get through the day in one piece. It's sure to be a woozy whirlwind. 

Rule Britannia, The Great Nanny State

Fark reports that:

"The nation that once ruled over half of the world and which stood alone against the Nazis now requires proof of age before it will let you buy a pizza cutter."

Don't believe it? I didn't either. So here's the headline and the link:

Woman, 28, told to prove age to buy pizza-cutter

Perhaps they thought it would be used to dock a terrier's tail?
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Me and my shadow in Oregon.....

I have found my shadow in Grant's Pass, Oregon, along the Rogue River.  In this beautiful green country, Nature sings in full voice.

Today we are off to Crater Lake.

Fragile Things

Fragile Things.

5x7 Watercolor on #140 Arches cotton paper.

Not for sale. Practice for watercolor.

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

Cruise Ship Impales Whale, Brings to Dock on Bow

Fin whale impaled on bow ball of the Sapphire Princess cruise ship.

Does this boat smell like fish?

From The London Times:

A passenger cruise ship arrived at port in Vancouver on the weekend with a dead fin whale lodged on its bow.

The Sapphire Princess, from the Princess Cruise Lines, arrived in Canada from Alaska on Saturday morning with the whale speared to the ship’s bulbous bow, the part of the bow which cuts through the water.

It is not known how long the carcass of the fin whale, estimated to be approximately 70 feet long, had been attached to the ship before it docked at the Port of Vancouver’s Canada Place terminal

A Bag Of Groceries

I went to Trader Joe's to pick up some fun food stuff.

This is not "core" food, i.e., it is not my morning granola breakfast cereal (made in the USA and distributed from California) or milk (from a dairy in North Carolina), or bags of boil-it-in-the-pouch Indian food (made in India) which I put over jasmin rice (grown in Thailand), and not spaghetti (made in USA, distributed from California) and tomatoes sauce (made in USA, distributed from Indiana), or potatoes (grown in the USA) or hot dogs (made in the USA), or coffee (Sumatran at the moment, but sometimes sourced from Kenya, Columbia, Mexico or Tanzania).

This is fun food stuff.

The total cost for one bag of food: $34.61. Here is what I got, what it is, where it came from, and what it cost.

• The Butternut Squash Soup says "17% organic ingredients" and includes filtered water, organic soybeans, natural cane sweetener, sea salt, expeller pressed canola oil, rice flour, natural flavor, onion powder, garlic powder and ginger. No source is given for this soup other than distributed by Trader Joe's of Needham, Massachusetts. The soup contains no preservatives, no artificial colors and no artificial flavors. Cost: $2.49 for a quart.
  
  
• The Carrot Ginger Soup has water, carrots, onions, potatoes, honey, organic evaporated cane sugar, rice flour, ginger root, expeller pressed canola oil and/or saflower oil, seat salt, spices, natural flavor. No source is given other than distributed by Trader Joe's of Needham, Massachusetts. The soup contains no preservatives, no artificial colors and no artificial flavors. Cost: $2.79 for a quart.
  
  
• The Creamy Corn and Roasted Pepper Soup (2 boxes) is water, sweet corn, potatoes, onions, honey, roasted poblano peppers, cilantro, sea salt, expeller pressed canola oil and/or saflower oil and/or sunflower oil. No source is given other than distributed by Trader Joe's of Needham, Massachusetts. The soup contains no preservatives, no artificial colors, and no artificial flavors. Cost: $2.79 per quart
  
  
• Two plastic tubs of black licorice Scottie Dog candies, made in San Francisco - $2.99 each. I freeze these so I eat them a little slower.
  
  
• A package of 3 gorgeous fresh peppers in three colors (orange, red, yellow), grown in the Netherlands - $3.49. I have no idea of what I am going to do with these peppers, but they were gorgeous.
  
  
• A package of crystallized ginger, from Thailand - $1.49. A guily pleasure.
  
  
• A package of "soft and juicy" dried mango, from Thailand - $1.69. An exotic snack.
  
  
• A package of chile-spice pineapple, no source, $2.49. An experiment. I can already tell you a failed one.
  
  
• A package of six kiwi fruit, from Chile - $2.49.
  
  
• A dozen brown extra-large eggs, from Pennsylvania -$2.29. Generally eaten hard-boiled.
  
  
• A tub-canister of Chai Instant Spice tea, no source. - $2.99. Another experiment.

Anything to learn here? Maybe. I eat food from five continents. You probably do too. I do not eat much meat. Those colored bell peppers, it turns out, are grown in greenhouses, and are even imported into Florida. Go figure. I guess some parts of American agriculture are about as up-to-date as American car design and manufacturing.
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Mamas Roses

Mamas Roses.

Watercolor on 5x7 Arches cotton paper.

Not for sale. Painted as practice for watercolor.

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

The Good News is the Bad News is Exaggerated

This was your TV in 1977.

A friend writes that he strongly suspects he is not a "modern" man.

There is something about the modern world that disturbs his rational conscience. He is not exactly sure what it is.

"It's rather a conundrum and a very real impediment to my peace of mind."

I think I know how he feels. I feel it too.

Or should I say I still feel it. The feeling is a little less pronounced that it once was, but it is still there.

It slithers out late at night, tips its hat in my general direction, and disappears around the corner into a shadow of doubt. Where the hell are we going with all this? How does it all end? I can feel it; I can smell it. Something wicked this way walks.

I talk to a friend about this generalized feeling of malaise. This is the same fellow who once told me: "Your mind is like a bad neighborhood; don't go in there alone." He knows me.

"I feel a sense of impending doom."

"Right," he says, taking a sip of coffee at Starbucks. "Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"That's impending doom."

And then he smiles.

He says we all have it.

And why wouldn't we? We were all raised in the full light of the Atomic Bomb, with duck-and-cover as Lesson One in our grade school plans.

We have been told that the water we drink is toxic, that the male fish in the river are gravid with eggs, and that 40% of all animals are going extinct tomorrow.

We are informed, almost on a daily basis, that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, and that that hand basket is being delivered to us by terrorists.

Our jobs are sliding out from underneath us, even as we get older and health care costs skyrocket.

The place where we hunted last year is now a Wal-Mart, and our 15-year daughter is on the Pill.

Our new car is made of plastic, and we can't find the dipstick.

The American flag flying from our porch is made in China, and the girl serving us eggs at Denny's was made in Mexico.

My friend has his own version of this windup, but you get the general idea.

Everything is happening too fast, and there is a general sense, among all of us, that we are losing control.

But it's not quite as bad as we think, he says. We need to perform an autopsy on our fears.

And so I do that.

I remind myself that the nuclear treaties have actually worked. The U.S. and the Soviet Union have one-fourth the number of atomic bombs they had two decades ago, and neither side is rattling is sword in a believable way. In fact, no one on earth has an Air Force or a Navy worth worrying about except the United States.

The water in our rivers and lakes is cleaner now than when we were kids. So too is the air we breathe.

Fish have always been able to change sex at will -- we just didn't know it.

The best weapon the terrorists have come up with is a couple of guys with box cutters. We are not fighting Lex Luthor.

Yes, our jobs are sliding out from underneath us, but that has been happening for 200 years -- horse shoes to iron rails, iron rails to cars, cars to flying saucers. Every era brings declining industries and rising ones too. The direction forward may not be up for all of the people all of the time, but it's generally up for most of the people most of the time. In America, even the homeless watch color TV and get hot meals and a free bed at the shelter.

Yes, we all have a sense of impending doom from time to time. That is natural. It is probably how we are supposed to feel. Like fox, humans are naturally wary. We distrust new things that show up on old ground.

And, truth be told, there is a lot of new stuff: New roads, new laws, new TV shows, new foods, new people, new electronics, new medicines, new ways of producing old things. By the time I figure out how all the features on my new cell phone work, it is out of date, and time for a new one.

We can never catch up.

And yet, most things are better now, aren't they? Who wants to return to 1975 health care? Who wants to return to their 1975 job, their 1975 house, their 1975 wage, their 1975 phone, or their 1975 car? Even after the real estate crash, my house is worth twice what I paid for it.

And yet it is easy to lose any sense of good. After all, who wants to talk about good on television? No one!

The media knows there are no ratings to be had by saying we are going to stumble forward and be alright in the end. Disaster and doom sell. Apocalypse sells. "If it bleeds, it leads"

CNN knows its ratings surge with every war. Triple murders, assassinations and child disappearances are good for Fox television's bottom line. Never mind that these things never actually happen to any of us. We listen to cable TV talking about some dead blond girl, and we never internalize that it's a child we do no know, in a city we have never visited, and the murder occurred two years ago. This is not news. This is olds. This is a contrived crisis: a cocked up story designed to suck us in so that we will watch more TV commercials. This is television appealing to our basest fears and our most prurient interests. It has nothing to do with the reality any of us is actually living.

Ditto for so many stories we hear about the natural world. We are told everything is about to go extinct, but the IUCN Red List shows that over the last 400 years very few animals and plants actually have, and most of these have been endemic birds on very small tropical islands.

Meanwhile, we ignore the natural world we really live in.

In America today, we are knee-deep in ducks, deer, mountain lions, alligators, buffalo, manatee, fox, raccoon, hawks, bear, falcons, eagles, wolves, coyotes, jack rabbits and elk.

Across the world, more and more wild land is being put into protected parks, even as population growth is slowing, child mortality is falling, access to clean water is improving, and starvation is in decline.

We bemoan the loss of small farms, but we are not celebrating the fact that large farms are more efficient, farmers now get vacations, food is cheaper, and the real problem in America is not starvation but obesity.

We are awash in vitamins, milk, and soap. It is a pretty great thing if you ask me.

But we ignore that. Instead we like to scare ourselves a little by dwelling almost exclusively on the negative, no matter how small or unlikely.

It's like the mind games we play when we are in deep woods and it is beginning to get dark. We have never actually seen a rabid coyote. We have never come across a cougar following us on a hiking trail, or an alligator sliding off the bank while we are swimming.

But we like to imagine it could happen, and so we bounce that danger around in our mind and write and talk about it a bit more than we should. Never mind that a bee sting is more likely to kill us than a wolf.

We do the same with food. We read unpronounceable ingredients on the side of packaged foods. Dihydrogen Monoxide? What the hell is that? It must cause cancer.

We fret about the possibility of a single death from nuclear energy, while ignoring the scores of very real deaths that occur from coal mining every year.

We elevate the scary and exotic because it is more interesting than the boring and conventional. And, as a consequence, we have this vague sense of impending doom hovering over everything.

And yet the future keeps coming, doesn't it?

And always, it seems a little bigger, and a little more complex than we are really comfortable with.

The future is fast and unknown.

The past, on the other hand, was slower. And we know how that story turns out.

A lot of good stuff lies in the past.

But isn't that the good news?

We can keep all of the good stuff we want. After all, don't we still run this country by choice?

We can still fish with a cane pole; we do not have to buy graphite.

We can still get an aluminum canoe; no reason to buy plastic.

We can still grow vegetables in our back yard, walk to school, bicycle to work, and run the dogs in the park.

We can still hunt, go to the high school basketball game, and watch old episodes of I Love Lucy.

And if we don't do that, then we are making a choice.

And, in truth, that choice is often logical.

A plastic canoe is better than an aluminum one.

A four-piece pack rod is better than a hard-to-carry cane pole.

Jon Stewart is generally funnier than Lucille Ball.

And so we come to the troubling truth: For the most part, the world is getting better.

Is not the Internet a marvel? How about color television, the I-pod and central air?

I have fruits and vegetables at the store I could never have dreamed of as a child -- kiwis, mangoes, Asian apples. If I want Tang and marshmallows and Graham Crackers, they are still there, but now they are in competition with so many other things that they only rarely make it into the basket.

Is that a bad thing?

No. And yet, just saying the names of these childhood foods creates a certain level of nostalgia.

I am reminded that the world was once slower and simpler.

Whatever happened to the smell of a hay loft? Whatever happened to the smell of old varnish in a boat house? They have been replaced by giant round bails wrapped in plastic and gleaming fiberglass decks. And why? Because no one want to lift 2,000 square bails into an expensive and hard-to-maintain barn, and everyone knows a wooden boat is 200 seams just waiting to sink.

And so the world changes rapidly, and with the change we feel a growing sense of unease.

Our comfort foods are gone. The secret woods of our youth have been razed to expand a parking lot. It has been years since we walked down a creek looking for tadpoles. Instead we check email, do taxes, and run to the next appointment.

And yet, most of us fight back in a fashion, don't we?

Some of us hunt with dogs or hawks in a manner unchanged since the Middle Ages. Others have large vegetable gardens, or spin their own wool for knitting, or have backyard chickens.

Some people carve wood, ride horses, or hunt with black powder.

I have friends who collect toy soldiers and sail old E-scows. I have friends who tinker on vintage cars and trucks, who herd sheep, and who have kitchens full of Ball jars for home canning.

Nothing loved is ever lost.

And yet, much of what people are doing now is not exactly traditional.

Most of the people with backyard chickens did not grow up with backyard chickens.

Most of the people flying hawks and digging on terriers did not grow up with these sports.

Thirty-five years ago, almost no one shot black powder.

So what is going on?

I am not sure. But one possibility is that even as we rush towards the future, some part of us is setting up a belaying point to the past.

It is a kind of psychic anchor -- our way of hedging our bets.

Yes, we are jumping off the cliff into the Great Unknown, but we will hold on to a few bits as a touchstone to the past -- a reminder not only of simpler times, but also of the notion that we might be able to still do it the old way, without the new technology, the nouvelle cuisine, the video games, and the Starbucks Coffee.

Maybe. We are not sure.

We remember what happened the last time the electricity went out in the house. We remember the time they were working on the pipes down the street and the water was turned off for a whole day. We remember what coastal Louisiana looked like after Hurricane Katrina, and the wild look in the eyes of the folks in California who have seen fire licking at the shingles of their house.

And so we do not cut the cord to the cable TV, and we do not pour sugar into the gas tank. Instead, we put 20 pounds of rice and 20 pounds of beans into two old plastic paint drums, and we make sure we pack in one of those new radio-flashlight-generator-cellphone-charger gizmos and a few bottles of water purifier to boot.

And then we go out for coffee.
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Woodland Fairie

Woodland Fairie. Watercolor on

#140 Arches cotton paper.

5x7.To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

Get the Hell Out of My House

You know what's funny?

What's funny is all the right-wing self-defense, right-to-carry, private property conservatives who are as silent as church mice when it comes to the Henry Louis Gates arrest in Boston.

You see, what happend in Boston was not a close call: the cop was wrong, was poorly trained, and violated Mr. Gates' rights as a citizen and home owner. As Lowry Heussler writes:

The crime of disorderly conduct, beloved by cops who get into arguments with citizens, requires that the public be involved. Here's the relevant law from the Massachusetts Appeals Court, with citations and quotations omitted:

The statute authorizing prosecutions for disorderly conduct, G.L. c. 272, § 53, has been saved from constitutional infirmity by incorporating the definition of "disorderly" contained in § 250.2(1)(a) and (c) of the Model Penal Code. The resulting definition of "disorderly" includes only those individuals who, "with purpose to cause public inconvenience, annoyance or alarm, or recklessly creating a risk thereof ... (a) engage in fighting or threatening, or in violent or tumultuous behavior; or ... (c) create a hazardous or physically offensive condition by any act which serves no legitimate purpose of the actor.' "Public" is defined as affecting or likely to affect persons in a place to which the public or a substantial group has access.

The lesson most cops understand (apart from the importance of using the word "tumultuous," which features prominently in Crowley's report) is that a person cannot violate 272/53 by yelling in his own home.

Read Crowley's report and stop on page two when he admits seeing Gates's Harvard photo ID. I don't care what Gates had said to him up until then, Crowley was obligated to leave. He had identified Gates. Any further investigation of Gates' right to be present in the house could have been done elsewhere. His decision to call HUPD seems disproportionate, but we could give him points for thoroughness if he had made that call from his car while keeping an eye on the house. Had a citizen refused to leave Gates' home after being told to, the cops could have made an arrest for trespass.

But for the sake of education, let's watch while Crowley makes it worse. Read on. He's staying put in Gates' home, having been asked to leave, and Gates is demanding his identification. What does Crowley do? He suggests that if Gates wants his name and badge number, he'll have to come outside to get it. What? Crowley may be forgiven for the initial approach and questioning, but surely he should understand that a citizen will be miffed at being questioned about his right to be in his own home. Perhaps Crowley could commit the following sentences to memory: "I'm sorry for disturbing you," and "I'm glad you're all right."

Spoiling for a fight, Crowley refuses to repeat his name and badge number. Most of us would hand over a business card or write the information on a scrap of paper. No, Crowley is upset and he's mad at Gates. He's been accused of racism. Nobody likes that, but if a cop can't take an insult without retaliating, he's in the wrong job. When a person is given a gun and a badge, we better make sure he's got a firm grasp on his temper. If Crowley had called Gates a name, I'd be disappointed in him, but Crowley did something much worse. He set Gates up for a criminal charge to punish Gates for his own embarrassment.

So where is the right-wing outrage at the over-reaching of the police state?

Where is the instruction piece that says this is why every black man in America should be strapped with a Glock even as they walk around in their own home (not to mention when they go to the Mall, to Church, or to a Sarah Palin rally)?

Oh. Right. Henry Louis Gates is a black man. In that case, what the hell did he expect would happen to him? The man was being uppity.

And he was being uppity to a good, God-fearing law enforcement official to boot! He's lucky he was not shot. In fact, he should have been shot. How else will we ever teach black people to never question authority?
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MSNBC Gets Spanked for Cause

Charles Pierce is awesome in this clip.

He refuses to let MSNBC off the hook for booking right-wing nut cases in the morning while acting as if it is purer than Caesers Wife during Countdown in the evening.

Pierce hammers the 20-something guest bookers at CNN, CNBC, MSNBC, Fox and the other TV networks for giving air time to people who are well and truly crazy.

David Shuster tries to bring it back to the nut job Liz Cheney, but in fact Mr. Pierce is making a bigger -- and far more important -- point.

Keith Oberman should step up and step in to invite Pierce back on this show for a longer segment.

So what if Pierce will not let MSNBC off the hook? Sauce for the goose, is sauce for the gander. Let's see if Keith Olbermann has a real set of balls -- and any real power to call a little bit of heat down on his own network.

Charles Piere's book, by the way is entitled Idiot America: How Stupidity Became a Virtue in the Land of the Free. Nice title. It just made my reading list.
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Ames Pony Shovel

In looking for a source of extra-long rivets to repair a shovel head with, I discovered that an Ames Pony shovel (from AM Leonard) can now be bought from Amazon.com >> see here

This is a very good American-made shovel from a company that has been making tools for longer than we have been a country.

This shovel is not cheap, but it is worth every penny.
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Canada Versus U.S. Health Care

No one pays more for health care than we do here in the U.S., but we are told that if we embrace a public option health care plan (yes, you can still keep the insurance you have now if you are happy with that insurance), then we will be sliding down a "slippery slope" to a Canadian-style health care system.

Hmmmm....

Canada has always seemed like a pretty civilized country to me. They certainly live longer, on average, than the average American.

Let's look at some other numbers:

• Circulatory disease deaths per 100,000:
  Canada: 219
  United States: 265
  
  
• Child maltreatment deaths per 100,000:
  Canada: 0.7
  United States: 2.2
  
  
• Digestive disease deaths per 100,000:
  Canada: 17.4
  United States: 20.5
  
  
• Infant mortality rate per 1,000 live births:
  Canada: 5.08
  United States: 6.3
  
  
• Intestinal diseases death rate:
  Canada: 0.3%
  United States: 7.3%
  
  
• Probability of not reaching age 60:
  Canada: 9.5%
  United States: 12.8%

What else?

• The U.S. spends more on health care than Canada, both on a per-capita basis and as a percentage of GDP. In 2006, per-capita spending for health care in the U.S. was US $6,714; in Canada, US $3,678. The U.S. spent 15.3% of GDP on health care in that year; Canada spent 10.0%.
  
  
• In 2006, 70% of health care spending in Canada was financed by government, versus 46% in the United States. Total government spending per-capita in the U.S. on health care was 23% higher than Canadian government spending, and U.S. government expenditure on health care was just under 83% of total Canadian spending (public and private).
  .

Best News Headline Ever

The continuing crisis: >> Swedish lesbians suck sperm banks dry.

Ben

Ben. Watercolor on #140 Arches cotton paper.

7x10. To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylic@yahoo.com

Laughing at the Republican Loons

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
The Born Identity
http://www.thedailyshow.com/
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Joke of the Day

Yes, we need a laugh, and who is funnier than the totally insane Republican party? Leaderless, devoid of ideas, bereft of facts, caught up in wave after wave of stories about homosexual-glory-hole-bathroom capers, diaper-wearing fetishes, and serial wife-cheating, they are like a living laugh track.

Of course, the left has its loons too, and I have celebrated them as well.
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Canine Freak Show Litigation

Here's an update to my earlier post entitled Woman Tries to Stop the Canine Freak Show.

It seem that the owner of the freak show has, well, freaked out, that the 5-legged chihuahua that he hoped to exhibit might, instead, get its deformities fixed and go to a loving home.

The owner of the freak show is now suing for his right to display the 5-legged dog for profit.


Update to the update: The 5-legged dog now has four legs and is recovering after surgery. The owner of the freak show says: “Sometimes, you just gotta say: ‘OK, I still have nine live, two-headed animals,' and move on.”
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Stoicism

Sto⋅ic

 [Stoh-ik]

–adjective

1.	of or pertaining to the school of philosophy founded by Zeno, who taught that people should be free from passion, unmoved by joy or grief, and submit without complaint to unavoidable necessity.

I'm currently reading Dr. Bernie Siegel's Love, Medicine & Miracles: Lessons Learned About Self-Healing from a Surgeon's Experience with Exceptional Patients lent to me by a wise woman. It's fascinating and I think everyone should read it whether or not they're battling an illness. His holistic approach to healing makes so much sense.  

In it he talks about predispositions to cancer. Two being stress and suppressed emotions. I never considered myself a stressed-out person. In fact, many people, including my former boss, were always commenting how markedly calm I am under pressure. I work best under pressure and thrive in a fast-paced, deadline-driven environment (I believe that may be a line on my resume ...). 

Maybe responding well to all that pressure isn't always a good thing. Turns out unexpressed emotion can actually suppress the immune system and can manifest itself in disease. I very, very rarely cry. I don't get worked up or easily overwhelmed. I don't think I've ever had a fight with anyone in my life, well besides fights over Ken dolls and crab rangoon with my siblings. I don't yell. I don't get angry. I see lemons as lemonade. I'm even keeled, generally content and happy with whatever I'm confronted with. I've always been able to step back from a situation, formulate a plan and get 'er done. 

Dr. Dailey got it right in one of our first meetings together when I found out I had stage 4b cancer. I asked how that was possible when I wasn't feeling that awful. "Well, you were probably being very stoic about it." Ding! Well look where being stoic got me. 

Since my May 8 diagnosis all has changed. I liken my emotions to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disney. Yesterday, I started crying while listening to a Bach concerto because the notes were just so beautiful. A couple weeks ago someone referred to me as "very ill" in a note and I screamed at the top of my lungs for a good five minutes. Today I was so overwhelmed with love for Sammy that I hugged her and laughed at her tail wagging furiously for about 10 minutes. I'm constantly doting over Craig now and feel like I keep falling in love with him all over again --- I think it creeps him out a bit. I must say, all extremes feel very healing, though it may make me seem a bit crazy.  

One of the questions Dr. Siegel asks his patients is: "What happened to you in the year or two before your illness?" Come to think of it, the past two years were quite eventful. 

In August of 2007 alone, I:  

-finished planning a wedding

-got married

-bought our first home

-delved into our first mortgage 

-moved out of our apartment

-survived a hurricane on our honeymoon

-had a run away car crash into the neighbor's garage on day 2 in the neighborhood

In the past year, I: 

-lost my grandfather

-lost Craig's grandfather 

-lost Craig's uncle very suddenly (in fact, this is the first time I learned of Dr. Bernie Siegel as he actually spoke at Kevin's funeral)

-lost Craig's aunt to brain cancer 

-got a new job 

-made the tough decision to leave an old job 

-got a dog 

If stress and cancer are interrelated, then I guess I can see how it could have developed. 

Siegel then asks his patients: "Did he or she openly grieve, rejoice, and face the challenge, or try to be calm and stoical?" Damn, that stoicism again. At the time, I never felt stressed during any of it, but now I see that maybe I didn't let myself accept that I was. I was always worried about how everyone else felt and trying to be strong for them. Craig is just the same as I am. Together we rolled with the punches, made each other laugh and smile and didn't let the little stresses that got others down get to us. Together we're one positive, smiley, stoic team. Maybe that's not always a good thing. Some of the things we've gone through were very, very difficult, especially losing his father to a long-fought battle with brain cancer just a few years ago. But we came out okay and stronger for it, because we always do. 

The loss of my Peppe two bitter cold Januaries ago hit me particularly hard. We were very close and I credit so much of who I am to him. He, too, loved writing and this blog is dedicated to him. I felt a very deep grief for a long time, still do. It was the first close family member I've ever lost and being a very small family - no aunts, no cousins, just the now 9 of us, it was a big hit. It took every ounce of strength I had to write and read his eulogy, but it was something I needed to do. Of course, I smiled through it, laughed and shared stories and didn't shed a tear in front of anyone at the service. When I was alone, and only when alone, that was another story. 

The last in a series of four questions Dr. Siegel asks his patients is "Why did you need this illness?" This is what I'm exploring now.

Says Siegel: "Sickness gives people 'permission' to do things they would otherwise be inhibited from doing. It can make it easier to say no to unwelcome burdens, duties, jobs or the demands of other people. It can serve as permission to do what one has always wanted but has always been 'too busy' to start. It can allow a person to take time off to reflect, meditate and chart a new course. It can serve as an excuse for failure. It can make it easier to request and accept love, speak your feelings, or otherwise be more honest. Even a cold has a meaning. Often its message is 'You've been working too hard. Go home and nurture yourself.'" 

I by no means blame myself or how I've lived my life thus far for getting me to this place. But I do see the fact that cancer chose me as an opportunity, not a punishment. 

Craig's mom always talks about listening to the little messages. Sometimes you get a tap on your shoulder and just ignore it. Then, another tap. If you keep ignoring it, you may end up with a piano falling on your head. I think this is my piano. I just haven't figured out exactly what that something is that I'm supposed to learn or do yet, but I'll get there. 

Until then, watch out. My emotions are running wild and free into the wilderness that is self-discovery. There's got to be a reason why this is happening to me and I will find it. 

I Miss You

Yorkie missing his people.

Watercolor 5x7 on #140 Arches cotton paper.

To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

Blue Dogs: A Nice Name for Whore

David Sirota has a nice piece up on why "Blue Dog" Democrats are really nothing more than ugly little political whores of the worst kind.

Finally, someone describes how it really works in Washington! Read the whole thing. This is serious truth:

What's really going on is this: "Blue Dogs" and "conservative Democrats" tend to represent swing states and districts - that is, states and districts that are among the very few that aren't gerrymandered and therefore actually play host to competitive elections. Because of this, their re-election races tend to be especially expensive, which means these politicians have to raise a shit-ton of cash for television ads. How, pray tell, do career politicians raise a shit-ton of cash? They trade their votes and legislative maneuvers for corporate campaign money, most of it coming from special interests in Washington who have little to no grassroots support/connection to the politician's state/district. The special-interest, D.C.-centric nature of these bribes is only enhanced by the fact that many of the "Blue Dog" and "conservative Democratic" districts/states are rather poor, meaning the money-sucking politicians are all but compelled to rely on out-of-state cash for their warchests.

All of this creates a closed circuit that serves the status quo. A "conservative Democratic" politician from a swing state needs to raise millions to finance a competitive campaign. There's not a lot of loose money lying around the district, considering the recession and the destitution of the very kind of district the "conservative Democrat" comes from. So the "conservative Democrat" ends up relying on money from D.C. special interests like, say, health insurers - interests that are largely hated in the "conservative Democrat's" state and have little grassroots connection to the state. That money then buys House and Senate votes that prevent stuff like health care reform that would most benefit the constituents of economically struggling states like the "conservative Democrat's" state.

In the end, because of this kind of transaction, the state remains destitute, and the politician remains in office, keeps raising out-of-state cash, and keeps insisting with a shit-eating grin that it's crazy - just crazy! - for anyone to think their votes could be influenced by millions of dollars.

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Jonny Lang :: Lie to Me

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Make Congress Live Like Regular Americans

No health care legislation?

No Congressional vacation!



An idea so simple, even a Member of Congress can understand it.
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Amazing Video

Kuroshio Sea - 2nd largest aquarium tank in the world

Let this video load. Give it time. Worth it. This is the Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium in Japan.
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Sir Lancelot

Sir Lancelot is a cute schnauzer painted

on #140 Arches paper. Watercolor.

7x10 To purchase contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

A moment of Grace....

This morning...on our deck.....the body of a beautiful woodpecker....his spirit gone to higher flight.   The one word that came to mind....Grace.

I asked my husband to bury her gently.....and then...no...I couldn't put that beauty underground.

So...she now lies carefully placed in a plastic bag in my freezer. 

 Someday to become part of artwork.

Ahhh....the minds and actions of an artist's heart are strange indeed. 

Will Enough Ever Be Enough?

There may be fleeting moments when I don't think about it, but my cancer is a constant presence in my mind and in my body. I think about it in everything that I do --- not in the sense that it controls everything I do, but in the sense that I think of how everything that I do will affect the cancer. Maybe others going through this can remove themselves from it, but my mind has always been a little overactive. Like a complicated orchestral score I have several tracts running at once, always one step ahead of the next. Now one of those tracts is a steady beat of cancer, cancer, cancer. 

More than ever in my life I view my body as a temple: I want the good things in and the bad things out --- now. I'm trying so hard to do all the right things for my body, but I worry that enough will never be enough or that what I'm doing is not the right thing. I want to beat this so badly that the ache for health actually hurts. The yearning to live a life even better, stronger, more aware than I had before cancer is ever-present within me, a constant echo in my head. I've always loved life and my presence in it, and I think that's what makes this that much harder. I wasn't looking for a way out. I wasn't looking for a change. I was perfectly happy and felt so lucky every day. Now every day I worry that it's all going to be taken away, like the beautiful life I had was so beautiful that it wasn't meant to last. 

Like the end credits of a movie, there is a continuous scroll of things I must do to beat this: eat, breathe deeply, exercise, stretch, meditate, love, live, learn, educate, listen, let out your emotions, control your emotions, disinfect, drink water, push yourself, don't be too hard on  yourself, don't ask why, find out why, remember to breathe ... over and over it echoes. 

When I shop for food I refuse to put anything in the cart that has an ingredient that I can't pronounce. All of the fat-free peanut "spread" or butter substitutes that I used to eat sicken me now when I read all the chemicals listed in the ingredients. Give me raw, real vitamins and sustenance. My diet has become like a second job. I snack throughout the day on raw peanut butter, steamed kale, raw almonds, Greek yogurt, blueberries, bananas, strawberries, soy milk, crisp bread, lots of cereal and granola, whole grain anything, spoonfuls of flax seed. I've started cooking more meals. For me, a kitchen illiterate, this is a big deal. Recipes from Real Simple magazine are my new favorite experiments. I've taught myself how to grill salmon (big Omega-3 booster), craft many salad varieties and work fresh veggies and herbs into most of our meals.

I've become probably over-paranoid about contracting some kind of germ. More than the fear of the lymphoma spreading is the fear of contracting something that my body cannot fight as my white blood cells are few and far between and the ones there are occupied with the cancer battle. Craig is building me a fantastic walk-in closet as a birthday present. Last night he was sanding down the joint compound on the sheet rock without a mask on and when I walked into the room the air was filled with white dust. I freaked and pulled off all the sheets and covers to throw them in the wash and completely lost my cool yelling that I can't be inhaling these chemical toxins and that I'm fighting so hard to beat this and something stupid like this could kill me --- or worse, get him sick. Afterward I felt awful. This morning he wore a mask and I slept downstairs. I was never a germaphobe. I was a firm believer in the "five-second rule" and I confess that a quick sweep under running water was enough to wash my hands, soap was a bonus when I had time. Now, I sing the entire tune of "Happy Birthday" in my head to know that I've scrubbed and lathered enough every time I wash my hands ... which is hundreds of times a day. 

Yoga class has become a sanctuary. It has done wonders for my strength and flexibility. After each chemo treatment my muscles knot like nothing I've ever felt and the achyness doesn't subside until a few days before the next treatment. Yoga has taught me how to breathe so that my body is filled with the oxygen that it needs to push out the toxins it is holding onto. It has allowed me to elongate my sore body and become conscious of my tender and my stronger areas. The meditation and relaxation aspect had also been extremely beneficial. Every time I'm getting closer to clearing my mind, pushing out that cancer, cancer, cancer drum beat. It'll take much more practice but I truly believe in the link of mind and body in overcoming this. I like that in class I don't have to talk anyone but you can feel everyone's positive energy and peaceful auras. The silence of only the gentle music and common breaths feels unworldly. I can go at my own pace and I never feel judged if I have to revert to extended child pose or don't have the perfect posture. However, I've found that my balance and core strength has remained and I've been proud of the poses I can master. 

My walking/jogging/hobbling continues. I try to get out every day. This weekend I want to try breaking out the bike and see how that goes when I hit the trail. When I feel my blood pumping I try to imagine it pumping out the cancer cells. The more oxygen I get in there the freer it flows. Every day in the shower I scrub with a detox mineral scrub to give those bad toxins a better chance of escaping. I then slough with a natural bristle body brush removing dead skin cells that might block the way for what I imagine is the constant escape of badness for my epidermis. 

Today I go check in with Dr. Dailey and I have a slew of questions for him and hope to come back with some new plans of attack ... and maybe an appointment for a port insertion ... as my phlebitis is flaring up again. Looking forward to my mid-way PET Scan where I hope to see some assurance that all of this effort and writhing chemo side effects are worth ever bit of the pain and more.