One Month Update

Hi All!

Just wanted to let you know that Buz is doing well with recovery. At three weeks he was back at work half days and this week (one month post-op) he is back full time. He also returned to exercising this week which has really been a wonderful spiritual boost for him. It seems to shed the stress from his body.

Take care and Happy Easter!

Bye Bye Foley

For Buz who has his Foley catheter removed today

Pack up all my gear and go,
Let me flow,
Swinging low,
Bye bye Foley,
Where the nurse waits for me,
Sugar's sweet, so is she,
Bye bye
Foley!

Everyone here loves and understands me,
Oh, what positive vibes they've all sent me,
Make my bed and light the light,
I'll be home late tonight,
Foley bye bye.

In Sickness and in Health

On Wednesday morning I helped my husband, Buz take his first post-op shower. As he stood with warm water cascading over his body, the umbilical like catheter coiling on the shower floor it was the first opportunity I had to take in the entire scope of the operation. His belly was slightly distended but it was obvious that the incisions are already healing. Not even a band aid needed. What a miracle our bodies are. I soaped his back and after he had rinsed, I towel dried him below the knees since bending over is not on his to do list yet. He said, “Hon, I guess this is what is meant by in sickness and in health.”

We took those vows many years ago and if you had asked me on Monday exactly how long ago I would have had to pause and mentally calculate the number. However, when my husband was wheeled into his room after a four hour surgery and an hour in recovery he had no such need to pause. Though still under the effects of the anesthesia and quite groggy he was very clear when the nurse asked, “Who is this nice woman waiting for you here?”

The most impish grin appeared on his face and he said in heavily slurred speech, “Why it’s my lovely wife of thirty-six years.”

Of course he doesn’t remember most of those hours after surgery. They are lost to him but not to me. As I held his hand and stroked the top of his head, he asked what the surgeon had said though he doesn’t remember ever asking that question or hearing my answer. Part of what the surgeon told me was that the operation had gone well regarding peeling back and reattaching nerve endings and because of that as well as Buz’s great abdominal muscle tone, he would recover his sexual function sooner than what was the norm for this operation. When I told Buz this, his eyes were closed and I was not sure he was aware of what I was saying until he smiled and in a hoarse voice, said, “Yeah, I think I can feel something happening already.”

This from a man with four ‘stab’ incisions extending across his abdomen like a dotted line, a longer, vertical incision above his belly button, a catheter draining into a bag hooked to the bed, another drain coming out of his side, and an IV line going into the back of his hand. The CO2 that they had pumped into him to do the robotic prostatectomy had leaked into his chest, eventually to his neck and head and had left him with a swollen half of his face and two black eyes.

Hard to believe the removal of a little organ the size of a walnut could wreak such havoc! Not hard for me to believe his sense of humor was still intact. It is really what attracted me to him in the first place and is what has got us through the past few months. Of course it is not my prostate and not my body but deciding between retaining his sense of humor or his prostate would not be a hard choice for me. I am hoping that his humor sticks around if I ever need to cash in on that part of our vows.

In the meantime I might buy myself a nurse’s cap. Not the lacy handkerchief kind that Florence Nightingale wore during the Crimean War but the white starched one with the little red cross on the front. Kinda kinky.

On To Recovery!

Buz's operation went really well today and we are on to recovery. He may come home tomorrow if everything goes well. We will be kicking back for the next 4-6 weeks!

Thanks for all your thoughts, prayers and good vibes!

Vicki

Into The Wild Blue Yonder

The morning of the operation we had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am. Even though we had preregistered there was a back up at check in at that early hour. Several others waited in the lobby for their names to be called before it was our turn. There were carry on bags and suitcases in seats and on the floor and you might even think you were in an airport rather than a hospital. Looking at the couples I tried to imagine which one was there for the trip and which was there to wait. It was easy to guess with some of them as one had a small suitcase at their feet and the other had a cloth bag with a magazine or book poking out of the top like mine. With other couples it was hard to tell as they both wore the same non-committal stare. Some people were alone and when their name was called they wheeled their little suitcase up to the cubicle and sat down to verify their insurance, etc. I wondered what medical procedure they were there for and if they would be alone for their entire journey.

We were assigned a pre-surgical suite on the second floor where we would wait until Buz was taken down to surgery. It looked like a normal hospital room with a bed and small private bathroom. There was a TV but no remote that I could find. Nurse Teri came into the room humming, Somewhere Over the Rainbow and told Buz he could change into the gown on the bed. She left and after he had changed I tied up the ties in the back and placed his clothes in the bags Teri had provided. Soon afterward a tech showed up to take his blood.

Teri came in again, this time humming, Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder and Buz and I smiled at each other. I wondered if she had an entire repertoire that she carefully planned before arriving each morning and if they were all songs about the sky or taking flight. Perhaps she had a son or daughter who was a pilot or in the Air Force. We shared a few laughs as she wrestled stockings on Buz's feet- the tight white ones that they make surgical patients wear to improve circulation and prevent blood clots from forming. "Wow, you have large feet. Glad I didn't grab the medium size." He would have to wear these socks for a few weeks after surgery and she gave me a sheet of washing instructions. I made a mental note to try sprinkling his feet with baby powder to see if it made putting them on any easier.

She left us alone and the silence was deafening. This is the time when you chat about the kids and their jobs or the fact that the snow will be all gone soon…normal things to help you to pretend you are sitting in a cozy cafe sipping Chai tea rather than being in a fluorescent lit sterile environment waiting for a four to five hour surgery.

The room had a track on the ceiling where a curtain could be moved to shield the bed. We reminisced about the Seinfeld episode when George's mother was in the hospital and George witnessed a shapely nurse giving the patient in the adjacent bed a sponge bath- all in silhouette on the drawn curtain. I said we could try to reenact the scene after his surgery. He said two nurses would be nice and we laughed.

The waiting was awful and mercifully a nurse arrived soon to wheel him (on his bed) to the elevator that would take him down to surgery. She placed an extra blanket over him and tucked it in. It reminded me of how the nurses gently wrapped our babies in their blankets after they were born, all snug and secure. I leaned over and kissed him, told him I loved him and would see him in a few hours and then walked beside the bed until she wheeled him onto the elevator. He was totally silent and I correctly assumed it was because he was struggling to hold it together. Surprisingly, I felt very strong and calm and I tried to send him those positive vibes.

After running to the car with his clothes I went to the waiting room on the second floor adjacent to the pre-op suites where we had been. My parents were going to join me in a few hours but for now I was the only one in the room. I wondered where the other waiting spouses from check-in were.

I had anticipated that once Buz was out of sight and reality had set in I might lose it and this is why I wanted to be alone at this time but the strong, calm feeling held. I sat where I could see both the clock and the nurse's station. No reclining seats with drop down trays and no in-flight movie to distract me though there was a TV.

Nurse Teri was busy down the corridor with new patients but smiled and waved when she caught my eye. I couldn't hear her humming her songs but didn't need to as they had become earworms, floating in my head. Music is an important part of Buz's life and I wondered if he was experiencing those same songs or if in his slumber he was being serenaded by Lambchop, Porcupine Tree and Elbow.

Between surgery prep, the operation and recovery it would be about seven hours before I could see him again. I could have used one of those little blue blankets they used to hand out on long flights and maybe a travel pillow as it had been a very short night. A few warm chocolate chip cookies that Midwest serves would have been okay, too since I had skipped breakfast. I took a mindless mystery novel out of my bag, not sure if I could concentrate enough to read it and began my wait.

BRING IT ON

We have become hooked on the former TV show, West Wing over the past few weeks. I anxiously open the mailbox these days hoping to see the red Netflix envelope that promises of more Leo, Josh, Sam and C.J. The writing is brilliant and though the first season aired in 1999 it is still amazingly pertinent to 2009. To get a view behind the scenes of how our government actually works at the same time that a new president is learning the ropes in current time makes me feel that I am part of the process. Really fascinating stuff! The character development is so rich that you feel you know the people well and care about them whether you identify with their politics or not. I actually find myself tearing up occasionally.

Of course I am a visual person and I have found some minor flaws- nothing to do with the writing- but with the staging. In one episode President Bartlett is with the staff in the Oval Office speaking of the January cold when through the window you can clearly see the maple trees with all of their leaves. Being a photographer I pick up on those things. Seeing the little missteps gives me comfort that those associated with creating the show were not perfect because I know for sure I am not. It makes the characters seem even more human and believable to me.

I don’t want to drop a spoiler on you if you have not seen the series and are planning to watch it in the future so I will try to handle this delicately. The second season deals with a presidential health issue that might land him in a lot of hot water. The catch phrase that the White House Chief Counsel comes up with as President Bartlett’s standard response to all that he will face is, “Bring it on!” Probably it’s not a bad attitude for President Obama to adopt at the moment.

Since my husband Buz’s diagnosis of prostate cancer in October it has been one hell of a roller coaster ride. We have been up and down so many times that I have considered taking intravenous Dramamine to deal with the motion sickness or at least put me in a drug induced state of mellowness.

Over the past week I have noticed my energy level spiking. That frenetic unfocused energy that appeared right after the diagnosis has become my constant companion again. Forget working on anything that requires a great deal of concentration because after 10 minutes I am done! I am off to find a granola bar or play a bit of solitaire on the computer! I have a hard time even staying on the treadmill for more than 15 minutes before I want to bolt for the shower. It is like the sudden onset of Adult ADD. I am pretty upbeat, just a bit scatter brained and agitated. I have a feeling Buz is in a similar place because when we went out to lunch yesterday he could not even focus long enough to pick out something on the menu and needed me to order for him.

“You know what I like. Just order me some soup and something to go with it.”

I managed to go to the counter and do that but almost forgot to order something for me and I DID forget to order something to drink. Buz remembered the napkins, spoons and straws. I went back for water. Please! No caffeine for either of us! Anyone watching us would think we were quite the pair- each of us not sure what end is up but together we seem to function pretty well. Without thinking, one of us finishes what the other starts.

As the surgery date approaches I find myself becoming very determined about getting this &#(@$ operation out of the way. I am actually a little pissed with the cancer and want to slap it up side the head. It has occupied our life long enough and I want it to make a complete withdrawal. No lingering security forces. Not one advisor left behind to smooth over the transition! It will receive no last minute bail out either! Get out of my damn space, buddy!

Watching West Wing last night I found myself embracing that catch phrase and mumbling it under my breath. By this morning when a friend called to ask how things were going I was saying it very forcefully. Later, while sipping Chai with artist friends at the local coffee house, in answer to their concerns I shouted the catch phrase over the din of clanging coffee cups and insect drone chatter.

When I got home, I threw the back door wide open and before I set foot in the entryway, screamed,

“BRING IT ON!”

I …..am……. ready.

Photo Therapy

Most of us women seem to be hard wired from birth to be nurturers. If we become pregnant this quality kicks into high gear and never recedes. We are the worriers, the caregivers, the ones who often sacrifice to make sure everyone else is doing well.

When my husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer that worrying and caregiver role was raised to an even higher level. I worried not only about my husband but my children and my parents. I felt I needed to be the one to provide the strength to keep them all together spiritually. That fierce protective spirit that a mother bear feels for her cubs kicked in and I was determined to do whatever I could to keep everyone feeling strong and positive.

Luckily, by the time we told all of them I had had time to work through the shock stage of hearing the word, cancer and could be there for them as they moved on through denial and acceptance. That journey is not an easy one but I could at least reassure them as they moved through it. For me there were days of walking through the house like a zombie and others when I sat and wept but some of the most difficult times were the fragile days when I could hold it together until I saw someone I knew and they asked me how I was.

Of course the role of nurturer can be exhausting and you need to have something to restore your energy. Photography and kayaking are my therapy. Both activities can remove me from the stress of the real world and renew my spirit. However, kayaking was out of the question with the waterways covered in ice and since we received the diagnosis, my photographing essentially stopped. I needed to print work quickly for some shows that I had committed to and finish some prints for orders but actually going out to create new work seemed impossible. I just didn’t have the energy or desire. For three months I shot nothing.

Then in January, my friend, Susan called me to invite me to her cottage in Door County for a week of photography. Every year she hosts a group of women artist friends for a winter escape. They rent the garret space at a local art school for a week and paint during the day. I don’t paint but I could have the time during the day to wander the countryside and photograph.

It sounded glorious to me but it meant leaving Buz alone a month before the scheduled surgery and I struggled with whether I should go. I told him about Susan’s call and he told me I absolutely needed to go. I didn’t commit right away but let it sit there for a few days marinating in my head. I decided to go, but not for the whole week.

I packed all my gear in the car including snowshoes and my winter coat that makes me look like the Michelin Tire mascot. It would be really cold but I didn’t care. I took my time driving up on Monday, skirting Lake Michigan and marveling at the sun glinting off the water and glazed snow. A storm had moved through the area over the weekend coating everything with a treacherous later of ice.





I arrived at the art school in the late afternoon for a quick hello before heading to Peninsula State Park for some photos. The road was glare ice and I crept along looking for some interesting shots. I pulled over before Weborg Point, put Yaktrax on my boots, grabbed my cameras and began photographing the expanse of snow and grass leading to the lake. Though it was extremely cold, the light was phenomenal and I could feel my whole body rejoice as I took my first shots in several months. If I captured no other images during my time here it would be okay. This magic hour was enough.

This would not be the only magic I would experience during the next three days, however. In sharp contrast to the frigid temperatures of the day was the warmth of the evenings spent with a group of remarkable women. We usually met at a restaurant for dinner after our respective days of creating and then retired to the cottage for some rousing games of Boggle and Mexican Train Dominoes. We shared travel stories, art ideas and wine.

One of the days we gathered for dinner at the vacation home of our friend, Jean. She had a few of the women staying with her for the week, also. I think there were twelve of us there that evening. They are all phenomenal, creative, strong women and I felt honored to be among them. Everyone brought something to share- chili, bread, salad, appetizers, dessert and of course, wine. It was a delicate dance in the kitchen as we shared cutting boards, assembled dishes and tried to keep our wine glasses straight.

The energy level generated by these women was such that I am sure our little spot could have been detected from space. I felt enveloped in the love, laughter and celebrative spirit that permeated the house. As we gathered around the table to share the food I said, “I feel like I am in one big womb.

By the end of the meal, teasing had commenced and good natured barbs were slung across the table. After a few zingers had been scored, someone looked at me and said, “Still feel like the womb?” …and we all laughed.

So I spent my days exploring the back roads and lake shore through my lens and my evenings sharing time with friends. What an incredible gift. I returned home on Thursday with 15 rolls of film and a restored spirit, ready to resume my nurturing role with a smile.

My Theory of Relative-ity

c (Speed of Light)

I find myself saying, "Everything is relative." a lot lately. So much so that I thought I would research Einstein's Theory of Relativity online and see if this might provide some insight into what I am experiencing. Knowing that it is a complicated theory and that I am not a quantum physicist I checked out several sites titled, "Relativity for Dummies." I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around the concept but I think I did glean a few facts out of the articles …but don't quote me on this.

One of the first things I learned was that though Einstein is the one we most associate with the theory there were many others before him that worked on this concept. Galileo had his own relativity theory in the 1600's that was the framework for Newton's Laws of Motion and was also very important in Einstein's theory. However, Galileo thought that time and length were absolute and therefore would be the same no matter where in space they occurred.

Einstein's theory was revolutionary because he said time slows down and space is compressed when you approach the speed of light. Therefore, time and length are not absolute but are in fact relative to the speed you are going. What I interpret as time on my watch here in my kitchen in Wisconsin will be different from what you see on your watch if you are traveling at the speed of light in outer space. Also a one meter measuring stick that I hold in my hand here will be longer than the one meter stick you hold in your hand if you are traveling at a speed approaching the speed of light.

Physicists came up with the twin paradox theory to further explain the time part of this concept to us dummies. At age 25 if one twin stayed on earth and the other twin traveled in space at a speed close to the speed of light, time would be different for them. After 20 years of traveling in space according to the space traveling twin's clock, the 45 year old time traveling twin would return to earth to discover her earthbound twin was in her 70's!

You're probably thinking, Right. So what does this theory have to do with your statement that everything is relative?

Not a whole lot except the time slowing down part so I came up with my own relativity theory. I haven't been traveling at the speed of light lately but I definitely have experienced some of that time slowing down phenomenon. Anyone who has experienced a severe shock, been in a catastrophic accident, or is waiting for test results for cat scans, ultrasounds or biopsies can attest to this. Any parent who has accompanied their child to the emergency room and has had to wait to find out what is wrong understands this time phenomenon also.

The time on my watch when I am sitting in the waiting room while my husband gets a CT scan definitely moves slower than the time on the watch of someone who is enjoying a coffee and scone, or even someone who is attending a board meeting that can typically move pretty slowly. My watch will show even more significant time slowdown when we are waiting to meet the doctor for the CT results. I can't even conceive how much slower time is moving on my husband's watch though I am sitting right beside him holding his hand. AND THEN when the doctor says the CT scan is fine I have an epiphany that everything else is relative.

When you realize how much worse things could really be you go out to dinner to celebrate life at that moment. You have a steak smothered in mushrooms, garlic mashed potatoes and sugar snap peas that burst their sweet greenness in your mouth. You raise your glass of wine and toast to the fact that you are only dealing with prostate cancer and you actually laugh at the irony of it all.

The next morning when you hear a plane crashed with all lives lost and learn of more casualties lost in war you realize that the family members of those victims would gladly trade places with you and what you are going through. Their time clocks have slowed down even more than yours. Understanding this is what helps put everything in your life in perspective. It is when you find yourself saying, "Everything is relative." and "Relatives are everything."

My theory of relativity has to do with recognizing the incredible family and family of friends we have and the power they have to reverse that time slowdown thing or even make time disappear. I guess you could say it is a theory of relative-ity. Knowing that they include us in their thoughts and prayers gives us strength and a definite optimism about the future. Sharing a meal, laughs, or a rousing card game of Wizard helps remove fear from the time space continuum. Receiving a gift of home made soup or decadent cupcakes nourishes not only our body but our spirit.

A friend of ours who is a cancer survivor said that the silver lining in all of this would be the unexpected people who enter our life and our discovery of how far the circle of love extends around us. She said that whatever love and support we have given out in the past will come back to us tenfold. I am not sure at the moment how far the love extends but I know the thoughts and prayers circle the globe and embrace many religions. Though there are differences in beliefs among the major religions it is obvious there are wonderful people included in them all and that they share a universal faith in the power of prayer.

Two of the unexpected people who have entered our lives are two brilliant surgeons. One of these surgeons is my parents’ former neighbor, a lovely Pakistani woman who we met only once. Though she now lives in New York and my parents live here in Wisconsin they have managed to remain close friends. She is knowledgeable about prostate cancer and has been very reassuring for my folks as well as us. When she heard about Buz’s diagnosis she contacted relatives here in the states as well as in Pakistan to include him in their Muslim prayer chain. He is such a kind man, a good man, she told them.

The other brilliant surgeon in our life at the moment is Sameer Sharma, the young doctor of Indian decent who will be conducting my husband’s robotic surgery. (I say ‘conduct’ because after seeing the precise, graceful movements of this complex machine it will indeed be a 5 hour performance.) He is the son of two surgeons and grew up playing computer games. I love what I am doing and I AM good at it. I believe him.

India and Pakistan are not what you would call friendly neighbors. I find it encouraging that in this great country of ours that these two people of diverse backgrounds have the freedom to follow their own beliefs, the opportunity to become skilled surgeons and the desire to work together to address my husband’s needs in such a comprehensive way- both physical and spiritual. Really amazing!

Einstein's theory would support the concept that life spent on this earth is measurable and absolute no matter what speed you are traveling at. However, my theory says that the perceived length of a life lived differs from an actual measured life in direct relationship to how much that life is lived to the fullest and how much of it is shared with family and friends.

So thank you to all of our family and friends who are sharing the journey with us. We are doing just fine-very much due to your love and support. I am anxious to get this kind and good man to the recovery side of this experience. In the meantime we are embracing every moment to the fullest and so should you!

The Dance

We learned to tango when we took dance classes for our daughter's wedding. The tango is not a practical dance for such an occasion but we were planning a trip to Argentina and thought it might be nice to at least learn a simple form of the dance. So after we learned the waltz and rumba; we tangoed, albeit badly. My husband, Buz was a better student than I. That left brain engineer part of him took to the order of the steps, tracing the precise pattern on the dance floor as if it had been designed in a computer drafting program. My right brain self was more tuned to the rhythm, my hips willing to move to the beat but my feet, rebellious and undisciplined, were reluctant to follow the lead. Perhaps they were protesting my refusal to invest in the sexy $200 heels that were recommended by our teacher.

So when we visited Buenos Aires and were eating empanadas at an outdoor cafe my husband was the one that accepted the invitation to tango in the street. The beautiful young woman's partner tried to lure me with his Latin charm but I knew the limited capabilities of my unruly feet and I stayed where I sat. Buz did a marvelous job of moving to the music with the dark haired senorita draped around his neck. Secure in knowing I was his inamorata, I sipped my cerveza and smiled, enjoying the show of his New Balance footwear flirting with her spiked heels.

Now three years later we were learning a new dance but without the sign up fee and monthly payment plan. When cancer first enters your house it tries to occupy every available space. It lurks in the sock drawer and behind the orange juice in the refrigerator. It tries to replace the normalcy that you once took for granted with fear and worry. Avoiding it and all its cronies requires delicate footwork, a combination of Anna Pavlova and Mohammed Ali.

I learned to step around it in the kitchen when making roasted vegetable soup in my stocking feet, toes pointed, chin up. Buz learned to outrun it on his treadmill, an occasional jete necessary to throw it off course. When it was heavy in the air we grew adept at ducking and dodging, drawing our elbows in close to our bodies and raising our closed fists when it came too close.

Unlike during our dance classes when we felt energized and often went to dinner afterward for an animated conversation, this dance drained our energy. There was no playfulness involved, no flirting and in the beginning when no one knew about the cancer it had to remain a secret dance. We had not mastered the complicated steps well enough to share it with family and friends. The learning process was exhausting so we stayed at home in our little cocoon to gather strength after our pas de duex. When saying its name was too painful we reverted to a silent adagio of embraces and clasped hands, nestling together in the folds of our bed.

New Date

The new date for the prostate operation is Monday, March 9.

Thanks for keeping Buz in your thoughts and prayers!

The Nest

Felted Nest by Lisa Brobst

At Christmas our wonderful friend, Chris gave us a felted nest created by another friend and local artist, Lisa. The nest is a symbol of the legend that all the birds sang in unison the day Christ was born. Though we are not particularly religious, we loved the legend and the wish it represented for a year of health, wealth and happiness. With the economy going the way it is I don’t think the wealth wish is going to happen at least not in any financial way. We would be happy with two out of three. I immediately set it on the windowsill where the light caught the blue of the eggs and the pattern of the feather. It remains there to remind us of the love, hope and faith behind the gift. The nest was also a appropriate symbol for what I had been feeling for the past few months.

When my husband’s PSA test was elevated and the urologist recommended an ultrasound and biopsy to determine if he had prostate cancer, an inner strength was activated within me along with a frenzied level of energy. The nesting phenomenon that I thought I had seen the last of after the children were born kicked in immediately. Though I was not painting nursery walls or stocking up on baby wipes I felt this same urgency to make sure everything was in order in and around our home for this next stage of our lives.

It was a time when all of those terrifying trips to the emergency room with our sick or injured children seemed to have happened for the sole purpose of building up an inner strength to draw on in later life. They were dry runs that had been thrown at us to show us that things could work out; to teach us to have faith.

My level of energy was high but my concentration span was extremely short. I could not focus on activities like reading a book or working in my darkroom but I was great at short bursts of cleaning out the junk drawer, stocking up on comfort foods at the grocery store and making sure bills were paid as soon as they arrived in the mail. These were the things I clearly had tangible control over and I was wielding that control with a fierceness that I didn’t know I had in me. When you have no idea what the future will bring I found that you want to keep the present as ordered as you can.

During that endless week of waiting for the test results I bought boxes of garden and leaf bags and began tearing out dead flowers and collapsed vegetables from my garden. It was October and I knew cold weather would be arriving soon. My parents usually help me with this chore but they were both recovering from the flu. They had no idea of what was impending as we wanted to spare them worry. I was sorry they had the flu but relieved that I had this time alone. The contrast of the earthy soil and the fragrant sweet alyssum was just the therapy I needed.

I hauled carloads of the bagged vegetation to the compost area of our town’s recycling center. There was something satisfying about grabbing the black bags out of the back of the car, ripping them open and flinging the shriveled but still faintly colored petunias on the compost heap.

I felt guilty about pulling the still blooming snapdragons from the front fence. They are pretty hardy and left alone they might continue blooming for another week or two. Our neighbor’s gardener walked across the street to say, “ Awww... I have enjoyed the flowers so much this year. Sorry to see them go.” I really felt guilty now about cutting their blooming season short but a storm with possible snow was predicted for the weekend and I had no idea what the next week would bring. When the light dusting of snow did come, seeing my gardens emptied and prepared for winter gave me some peace.

From the gardens I moved inside to the guest rooms that had projects to be finished. The larger room had been our daughter’s and then became our son’s after she went off to college. I had finally repainted the room and rearranged the furnishings to make it into a guest room as it was clear that our son was permanently settling in the Twin Cites after college. I bought new drapes and hung some of my framed black and white photos on the walls. Their stillness and simplicity seemed to add calm to the space.

The second bedroom needed a new bed and bedding which I quickly ordered. I had a nagging need to see everything completed; to have my entire house in order. I rearranged the artwork on the walls of the second bedroom, all created by friends from different corners of the world. On a sunny day the room radiates warmth. The final pieces I placed in the rooms were two rocking chairs.

In the larger room I placed the chair that belonged to my mom and dad. My mom used it to rock both my brother and I when we were young and I had used it to rock both of my children. Made of solid mahogany, it is one of the most comfortable rocking chairs I have ever sat in. That was handy for my mom as I suffered from croup as a child and she spent endless hours in the chair with me in her arms. I spent many hours comforting my children with the rhythm of that chair also.

It is painted white because my brother accidentally broke off one of the rockers when he was young and my grandfather hand carved a rocker to match but he could only find pine for the piece. My mom still regrets not trying to match the finish of the original wood but it is fine with me that it is painted white. I have no memories of its former color only of the perfect way it fits my body.

I remember my mom giving it to me when I became pregnant with our daughter. It was one of the first pieces we placed in the nursery. Before we painted the walls or bought the crib, the rocker waited patiently in the corner.

The other rocker was used by my husband’s mother to rock him and his brother and sister. I am sure it got a lot of use also. It had only come into our possession a few years ago after she died. Its presence added comfort to the second bedroom.

Now that the rooms are done, I find myself migrating there during the day trying first one and then the other chair. I gently rock, closing my eyes and have silent conversations with the all the wonderful women I have known. Nurturing women sending me their strength and love.

A Car in My Lap

It was in a little bed and breakfast in the wine country of Argentina that we were enlightened by a Norwegian. My husband and I sat in the common room of Club Tapiz B&B sipping wine and chatting with our fellow travelers, getting to know them. When we asked one of the men why he and his wife had come all the way from Norway to this remote location he said, "You have to make the most of every day because you never know when you are going to wake up to find a rock on your head or a car in your lap."



We had never heard the saying before and I stored it away in my memory. I thought it spoke well to why we, too had come to this out of the way place from our small town in Wisconsin. I vowed to keep the thought in my head for everyday reference once I returned home so that I would be reminded to grab life fully each day. Of course those resolutions are neglected when you get involved in real life. I even thought of it as a humorous, 'cute' statement until last October when I woke up to find a car in my lap.

My husband had an elevated PSA rating during a routine exam and the urologist recommended an ultrasound and biopsy to check out my husband's prostate. With my husband's PSA rating the chances of him having prostate cancer were one in four. During that painful, breathless week of waiting for tests results I had a dream. My husband was standing on top of a tall building looking down at me. He said he was scared and I said, "I know." Again, he said he was scared and I smiled and said, "I am here." He stood there for quite some time as I calmly waited. He finally let himself fall and I caught him gently in my arms. I think that is when I knew that the biopsy results would be positive.

He knew when he called the doctor's office from work for the test results and they said he needed to come in and see the doctor in the afternoon. I was upstairs in the bedroom putting away clean clothes when I heard him come in the back door, home from work long before noon. With the sound of that door my knees buckled a bit. I met him at the bottom of the stairs. I had no idea what to say so I gathered him in my arms.

Whispers in the Wind

Three years ago my friend, Pam attended my daughter’s wedding. On Saturday, June 21, I watched her daughter walk down the aisle and begin a new phase of her life. Pam started out as my housecleaner almost twenty years ago and quickly became a wonderful friend. Two friends of mine, Susan and Sandy were equally lucky to have Pam clean their homes and every spring we looked forward to taking her out to lunch for her birthday. We shared not only the common bond of friendship with Pam but the bond of motherhood as well. Saturday, motherhood was foremost in my mind as we shared a church pew and listened to her daughter say her wedding vows. Susan, Sandy and I had had daughters marry recently and I am sure the memories of those events played out in all of our minds as we saw the rings blessed. We felt we were Pam’s eyes for this event because she was unable to be there.

When my children were small, Pam arrived at my house every other Friday to clean and restore a small bit of order…at least for a few days. She watched my children grow from toddlers to adolescents to adults. We shared many talks about family, friends and life. While she dusted or washed the floor she listened to me voice worries about one of my children or vent about some injustice I thought I had suffered and I in turn listened to her concerns about her children or her ailing mom. She was a comforting recurring figure in the routine of my life so it felt good to be able to return the favor when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I brought her flowers, homemade soup and paperback novels to distract her mind. She was an incredible fighter and beat the breast cancer but not the colon cancer that claimed her last August. She was able to help her daughter pick out her wedding dress but was not able to see her wear it Saturday. Watching Pam’s son light a memorial candle for Pam to symbolize her presence during the ceremony was a bittersweet moment. I hoped indeed that she was there in spirit and could see how beautiful and happy her daughter was.

The last few days had seen the formation of incredible clouds and occasional storms. Unlike the storms earlier in the month these had not been severe but they had generated phenomenal cloudscapes, especially at sunset. Since there were a few hours between the afternoon wedding ceremony and the evening wedding dinner I decided to grab my camera equipment and chase some clouds. I went home, changed into jeans, threw my camera equipment and “reception” clothes into the car and headed out to wander the back roads. I planned to slowly make my way to the reception hall fifteen miles away, stopping along the way to change into my better clothes after I was done climbing through ditches and walking in muddy fields.

As I drove out of town a newly sprouted field of wheat caught my eye. It evidently had been fortunate to survive the weeks of rain. Storm clouds provided a dark backdrop for the neon green field. Most people are familiar with the tawny colored fields of mature wheat but don’t know about the early weeks when the new shoots are almost electric green when touched by the summer sun.

I jumped out of the car and began shooting with my digital camera as the storm was moving quickly and the scene changing every second. When the storm developed sheets of rain I decided I wanted to shoot it in black and white with my Holga and Rolleiflex cameras also so I ran for the car and grabbed them as fast as I could. I carefully stepped between the planted rows, knelt in the muddy field and shot as the storm passed from right to left along the landscape.

I thought it was far enough away for me to be safe but soon I was being pelted with large cold raindrops. I ran for the car hoping I had captured something on film. As the rain fell on the car I slowly reviewed the photos on my digital camera and noticed that in the small viewfinder there appeared to be human shapes captured in the storm clouds. I certainly did not notice them when I was shooting but I could see them now. Of course with my eyes as tuned to the visual as they are I might be the only one who seems to see them but I will include them below to let your imagination have some exercise. Let me know if you can see a figure in one and a face in the other.

I thought to myself, “Pam, if that is you I want you to know I am thinking about you and thanks for the incredible day of clouds!” I drove north out of the storm and was soon chasing some solitary clouds to the north and west. It is a challenge in SE Wisconsin to find a bare landscape that affords an expansive view of the sky so when I find areas that work well I mark them on my map. I turned on a familiar road and was able to find a field with grazing cows directly below one of the clouds. More clouds were building to the west forming spectacular sweeping shapes but by this time I needed to be going east toward the reception.

I pulled over on a little traveled road to change into my skirt and heels (not easy to do when sitting in the driver's seat) while watching the storm develop to the west. I would have moved over to the passenger seat or the back seat to accomplish this contortionist challenge but my camera gear was taking up all available space. I stepped out of the car in my heels, black skirt and lace blouse to shoot a few last photos.

What a picture I must present- standing in the middle of a road flanked by farm fields, carefully composing an image of distant dark clouds. I stowed my cameras, applied fresh lipstick and arrived at the reception in time for a cocktail before dinner.

Pam’s husband, Jim stopped by our group and said, “You know that thunderstorm we got last night with those sharp claps of thunder? That was Pam.” I wondered what he meant by that and/or what Pam meant by that. Was she angry because she couldn’t be here? Was she admonishing him to behave himself and make sure that things would go well today or did she just want all of us to know that she and her fighting spirit were very much here?

After a wonderful meal shared with friends, several toasts and some wedding cake it was time to leave, coincidentally just in time for sunset on this summer solstice. Sandy and Susan left a few minutes before I did and Sandy’s husband ran back inside to retrieve me. “Do you have your camera? Hurry! ” I moved as quickly as I could in my heels, grabbed my camera from the car and managed to take a few shots of the rainbow before it disappeared.

Sandy said, “That’s Pam’s doing.” I smiled, thinking, “Well, Jim’s off the hook. She must be happy with how things went today.”

My friends drove off to the west and home. I headed north, watching as the clouds to the east and south began to turn pink with the reflected light from the setting sun. I found a wheat field facing south, set up my tripod and began shooting as the clouds grew in color.

I stored the location in my head and reminded myself to mark it on my map. This field will be glorious in a month or so when it turns golden and the movement of its sheaths creates whispers in the wind.

End of Day

Of Dragonflies and Flycatchers

My husband and I and my folks spent the past weekend at our cottage on Kelly Lake and conditions were right for us to witness the emergence of dozens of dragonflies. My fisherman dad sat at the end of the pier, pole in hand while my mom sat on the steps to the pier catching some sun. Being my normal photographer self I of course was taking a few pictures. My Mom seemed to be captivated by something on the rocks beside the steps so I walked down to see what was going on. “Dragonflies”, she said.

Memories of summers in Maine were filled with these insects that seem to be a cross between a helicopter and a bi-winged airplane. We called them darning needles in Maine when I was young and I remember hearing the story that if you misbehaved they would sew your mouth shut which evidently I never took seriously. I know for a fact that I misbehaved frequently enough to warrant such punishment but I don’t recall being particularly worried when dragonflies occasionally lit on my arm. They were frequent companions when we were hiking through the fields around our small town and I loved their shimmering colors but I can’t say I ever gave them much thought or wondered how they appeared each summer.

My family had a cottage on the lake in our small town in Central Maine and I remember seeing empty bug casings clinging to the side of our pier or on nearby rocks. These papery ghosts could be scary looking when you were little. The cigar shaped bodies with spider-like legs would float away on the wind if you were brave enough to touch them. I never was interested enough to ask what had happened to what was inside these shells. I must have assumed they were what were left of an ugly dead bug.

Dragonfly Nymph

This morning as I looked at the four or five dragonflies resting on blades of grass and dead leaves I noticed several empty casings nearby and I finally realized that the ghost shells had been dragonfly nymphs. I looked around the area and found several more shells clinging to the sides of the pier and the rocks lining the shoreline. Not far away from them I saw dragonflies resting in the sun waiting for their wings to harden so they could fly away. In the beginning when testing their wings they would only fly a short distance and seemed to land on my mom and I with great frequency. I either moved to the sun until they flew away again or gently moved them onto my finger and set them back on a sunny rock.

There were no iridescent body colors that I remembered from my youth but when the wings caught the sunlight they seemed like glass mosaics.

I know now that dragonflies don’t develop their color until several days after molting. There are over 450 types of dragon flies in North America and I am not sure what species these were. I would love to believe they were a Saffron-Winged Meadowhawk or perhaps a Red-Waisted Whiteface simply because I love the sound of the names but they were probably Lake Darners.

Dragonfly nymphs can live in the water for up to three years molting several times before they crawl onto land and molt one last time into a dragonfly. While underwater they are veracious predators eating mosquito larvae and even feeding on small fish. As flying adults they feed on mosquitoes and other insects before they die at the end of summer. They are pretty handy to have around.

After the excitement of the dragonflies we retired to the deck where we were happy to see our resident Great Crested Flycatcher couple back this year. They appeared to be building nests in two of our birdhouses. They work very closely together and are vigilant scouts for the houses. They take turns perching on a nearby branch and keeping a lookout while the other one flies in with a mouthful of twigs to add to the nest. They were not happy with us being there, chirping angrily at the inconvenience of us but we kept our distance, sitting on the deck quietly reading a book and they got on with their work. I’m not sure why they are building two nests. Perhaps the male is doing it for insurance. “Hon, I built you two nests this year. Pick the one you like the best.” How could he lose?

Later in the summer when the young have hatched we love watching their little heads bob into view as the parents arrive with food. And much of the food that these dilligent parents will feed to their young will include the dragonflies that are just beginning their short lives. The circle of nature never ceases to amaze me. Then in a few months in late summer we will arrive for a weekend to sadly discover all of the activity done and will know that the young ones have left the nest.

My husband's dream for a few years has been to see a pileated woodpecker up at our cottage. It seems everyone else in the family has seen one and recorded it in our bird book. For Buz it has been very elusive. One will fly by our deck just as he has turned to say something to me so he misses it. Driving on a back road one flies in front of the car when he is looking down to adjust the volume of the music. Only a lapse of a second but enough to make him believe I think that we have all been making up our sightings.

Well late in the afternoon on Saturday he called me outside and said, "Listen to this woodpecker!" It was such a loud sound I said, "That HAS to be a pileated!" We tracked down the tree and there the large prehistoric looking creature was, the proverbial 'Woody the Woodpecker' attacking a dead beech tree. Maybe I will be able to capture one with my camera sometime! This image is NOT mine but I included it so you would know what we were looking at!

Hmmmm... now that Buz has crossed this off his wish list I wonder what he will dream for next!

The Kayak, Me and the Camera

We were at our cottage in northern Wisconsin this past weekend and on the ride home my husband shared a few paragraphs from a book he had just finished reading. It was about a father and his son who sailed the inland passage (precursor to the Intercoastal Waterway) from Massachusetts to Florida and back on a 24 foot catboat in 1912. The father, Henry Plummer kept a journal of the year-long trip and when he returned home assembled 700 handmade copies of a book recounting their adventures. Attracted by the excerpts my husband dangled in front of me, I’ve been lured into reading the third printing of this classic, The Boy, Me and the Cat. If you are not intimidated by the plethora of sailing terms (most of which mean nothing to me) you discover Henry has a lovely writing voice and a great sense of humor. My husband lamented the fact that Plummer never wrote anything else but I am wondering if he wasn’t really lamenting the lack of having such an adventure.

Unlike Mr. Plummer, my adventures are of a smaller scale and so is my boat. I don’t haul turtles onboard and make soup of them while marveling at the colors of their shells and the dignity of their heads. And much to the relief of the farmers in the area I don’t shoot stray cattle on shore to further ward off hunger. (Evidently, perfectly legal in 1912) However, every time I slide my kayak into the water whether it is a lake, river or tiny pond it is an adventure of discovery for me.

Pecor Lake

This past weekend I explored small Pecor Lake located just a few miles from our cottage in Oconto County, Wisconsin. Though I have a boat loader for the top of my car to hold my kayak I have never installed it so I put down the seats in my PT Cruiser and slide the thing in the back of my car to transport. It’s okay if I am just going a few miles but I do intend to install the top carrier before our trip around Lake Superior this fall.

I knew that Lake Pecor was a gem even before I retrieved the kayak from the car because there was tall reed grass growing in the perfectly still water by the boat landing. I spent a half hour wading in the water photographing the patterns that their reflections made while fish nibbled at my feet and toes. Every time I was startled by a bite I jumped, causing ripples in the water and disrupting the perfect reed reflections. I know there are no piranhas in Wisconsin but a school of adolescent bluegills can create quite a feeding frenzy when there are brightly painted toes in the vicinity. (Note to self- when fishing for bluegill paint a dot of #133 “Femme Fatale” on the worms)

(after a bite)

I love the shallow draft of my kayak that allows me to paddle close to shore among the lily pads and submerged logs. Though Mr. Plummer’s Mascot had a shallow draft he found himself aground on many occasion due to storms, tidal changes, etc. I haven’t got stuck yet but the wind has occasionally pushed me into shallows where I have rested gently on a soft murky lake bed. This often happens when I am frantically trying to focus my camera as my subject floats out of the frame. A firm push off bottom with my paddle usually sends me on my way.

On my first kayak forays I only took my Holga camera. It would not be ruined if it went into the water because it is plastic and has no electrical components to short out. Plus it only cost $17 so if I had to replace it, it would not be too painful. As my confidence in the kayak and myself grew I added equipment to the camera bag nesting between my legs. Soon my point and shoot digital and my 35mm SLR shared space with the Holga. And I always seem to share space with a few spiders and miscellaneous bugs....but no four-legged creatures so far. I had a friend relate a story of taking a canoe for the inaugural paddle of the summer only to have a mouse crawl up her leg while well away from shore. Her husband tried to calm her by pointing out how scared the mouse must be to find itself adrift but I don’t think that was of much comfort. I check my kayak carefully each time now before I step in! Perhaps Mr. Plummer was very wise taking along a cat on his voyage but I’m pretty confident it would be more bother than worth in my small vessel.

I have found each lake has its own personality. Pecor is small, quiet and friendly to paddleboats, canoes and kayaks. Jet skis would be obscene. (Frankly, I find them obscene on any lake.) Though small, Pecor is large enough to host an island that would be fun to explore. I skirted the shore of the lake marveling at the patterns on the submerged branches and logs.

I noticed a single stem of reed that bent over the water to form a perfect heart shape. I spent 14 minutes paddling back and forth trying to take a photograph of it. To get a shot like this I anticipate the current/breeze, get in position, gently balance the paddle on the top of the kayak so it doesn’t fall in the water, grab my camera from my lap and shoot as I float into just the right spot. As soon as I put down the camera and grab the paddle I am obviously way out of position for another shot so I begin again. If I want to bracket the exposure or use different cameras this could be an hour long affair- thus the wise choice of a 1-person kayak. It would drive anyone else along for the ride insane. Of course there are the times that I am perfectly in place and realize I forgot to advance the film or discover too late I am totally out of film. I watch the shot drift out of the viewfinder as I not so silently reflect on how stupid I am. Sometimes it’s impossible to get the shot I want and I come to understand the fisherman’s frustration of dealing with ‘the one that got away.’

Fish were jumping close to shore as I progressed around the lake and I immediately thought of my dad. I had no idea what the fish were but they made too large a splash to be little pan fish. We would have to come over with our canoe and poles. Maybe we would skip the #133 for the worms and hope for bigger game. I paddled into the center of the water lilies at the far end of the lake enjoying the two different species – one cuplike with butter yellow petals and the second with white spiky petals and a yellow center. I drifted among the sea of green circles listening to the bees gather pollen from the purple flowers on the nearby shore.

Lith Photograph/ Holga Camera

I took a leisurely paddle around the small island trying to find an easy place to beach the kayak. With the mass of tangled roots and vegetation around the edge I decided to wait until winter and explore the interior with snowshoes. A paddle boat with a young girl and boy passed me as I headed back to the boat landing and my waiting car. We smiled and nodded, not needing to do anything more to acknowledge the beauty of the day.

For more photos in the series go to:
The Kayak, Me and the Camera Set
on my Flickr account.