Poignant memories of birthdays past

Thinking about that marvelous person, Judy Jones. It would have been her 79th birthday today. I certainly miss her but revel in all the great memories and great things she has bestowed upon me...and others! Miss you Mom!

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The Joy of Less
by Pico Iyer

“The beat of my heart has grown deeper, more active, and yet more peaceful, and it is as if I were all the time storing up inner riches…My [life] is one long sequence of inner miracles.” The young Dutchwoman Etty Hillesum wrote that in a Nazi transit camp in 1943, on her way to her death at Auschwitz two months later. Towards the end of his life, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “All I have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen,” though by then he had already lost his father when he was 7, his first wife when she was 20 and his first son, aged 5. In Japan, the late 18th-century poet Issa is celebrated for his delighted, almost child-like celebrations of the natural world. Issa saw four children die in infancy, his wife die in childbirth, and his own body partially paralyzed.

I’m not sure I knew the details of all these lives when I was 29, but I did begin to guess that happiness lies less in our circumstances than in what we make of them, in every sense. “There is nothing either good or bad,” I had heard in high school, from Hamlet, “but thinking makes it so.” I had been lucky enough at that point to stumble into the life I might have dreamed of as a boy: a great job writing on world affairs for Time magazine, an apartment (officially at least) on Park Avenue, enough time and money to take vacations in Burma, Morocco, El Salvador. But every time I went to one of those places, I noticed that the people I met there, mired in difficulty and often warfare, seemed to have more energy and even optimism than the friends I’d grown up with in privileged, peaceful Santa Barbara, Calif., many of whom were on their fourth marriages and seeing a therapist every day. Though I knew that poverty certainly didn’t buy happiness, I wasn’t convinced that money did either.

So — as post-1960s cliché decreed — I left my comfortable job and life to live for a year in a temple on the backstreets of Kyoto. My high-minded year lasted all of a week, by which time I’d noticed that the depthless contemplation of the moon and composition of haiku I’d imagined from afar was really more a matter of cleaning, sweeping and then cleaning some more. But today, more than 21 years later, I still live in the vicinity of Kyoto, in a two-room apartment that makes my old monastic cell look almost luxurious by comparison. I have no bicycle, no car, no television I can understand, no media — and the days seem to stretch into eternities, and I can’t think of a single thing I lack.

I’m no Buddhist monk, and I can’t say I’m in love with renunciation in itself, or traveling an hour or more to print out an article I’ve written, or missing out on the N.B.A. Finals. But at some point, I decided that, for me at least, happiness arose out of all I didn’t want or need, not all I did. And it seemed quite useful to take a clear, hard look at what really led to peace of mind or absorption (the closest I’ve come to understanding happiness). Not having a car gives me volumes not to think or worry about, and makes walks around the neighborhood a daily adventure. Lacking a cell phone and high-speed Internet, I have time to play ping-pong every evening, to write long letters to old friends and to go shopping for my sweetheart (or to track down old baubles for two kids who are now out in the world).

When the phone does ring — once a week — I’m thrilled, as I never was when the phone rang in my overcrowded office in Rockefeller Center. And when I return to the United States every three months or so and pick up a newspaper, I find I haven’t missed much at all. While I’ve been rereading P.G. Wodehouse, or “Walden,” the crazily accelerating roller-coaster of the 24/7 news cycle has propelled people up and down and down and up and then left them pretty much where they started. “I call that man rich,” Henry James’s Ralph Touchett observes in “Portrait of a Lady,” “who can satisfy the requirements of his imagination.” Living in the future tense never did that for me.

I certainly wouldn’t recommend my life to most people — and my heart goes out to those who have recently been condemned to a simplicity they never needed or wanted. But I’m not sure how much outward details or accomplishments ever really make us happy deep down. The millionaires I know seem desperate to become multimillionaires, and spend more time with their lawyers and their bankers than with their friends (whose motivations they are no longer sure of). And I remember how, in the corporate world, I always knew there was some higher position I could attain, which meant that, like Zeno’s arrow, I was guaranteed never to arrive and always to remain dissatisfied.

Being self-employed will always make for a precarious life; these days, it is more uncertain than ever, especially since my tools of choice, written words, are coming to seem like accessories to images. Like almost everyone I know, I’ve lost much of my savings in the past few months. I even went through a dress-rehearsal for our enforced austerity when my family home in Santa Barbara burned to the ground some years ago, leaving me with nothing but the toothbrush I bought from an all-night supermarket that night. And yet my two-room apartment in nowhere Japan seems more abundant than the big house that burned down. I have time to read the new John le Carre, while nibbling at sweet tangerines in the sun. When a Sigur Ros album comes out, it fills my days and nights, resplendent. And then it seems that happiness, like peace or passion, comes most freely when it isn’t pursued.

If you’re the kind of person who prefers freedom to security, who feels more comfortable in a small room than a large one and who finds that happiness comes from matching your wants to your needs, then running to stand still isn’t where your joy lies. In New York, a part of me was always somewhere else, thinking of what a simple life in Japan might be like. Now I’m there, I find that I almost never think of Rockefeller Center or Park Avenue at all.

Judy: Gone but still with Us these 3 months

Judy Jones steppin' out: Venice September 2006

Mother has been gone a bit over three months now. We certainly miss her warm smile and graceful ways. I know that the phone no longer rings here several times a week at 5 AM with the sound of "How are you, Honey?" starting many of my days.

My office wall looks down as I write

Folks have been very, very kind. My own friends, most of whom Mother had known for 15, 20, 30 or more years were most solicitous and showed very real caring. They, too, considered her a good friend. More than a few wanted to fly right out to Arkansas and be there themselves to help take care of her. She elicited that type of feeling and regard. The same is true, I hear, for Dad and Janet.

I have not experienced grief in any detectable way. I think of Mother every day but always with nearly untarnished delight. No feeling of loss or sadness. Sometimes a tough of bittersweet beauty enters my soul at the thought of her...if that is an emotion. Cliche it may be, but I feel as if Mother, MizFlounce, is right here with me all the time. Not much different than when she was alive. Janet put it best: "Jeff, don't you think it is so much better now that she has died? For her and us. It was so hard there at the end when Mother was so ill, in such discomfort..."

Remembering Mother: 2 Sept 2009

A woman who had a brief appearance on the most recent Bill Moyer's "Now" program said it all: "I don't mind dying...but it takes alot of getting there!". So true! A reality that will probably be one to o'er take about 90% of us if statistics hold true. So much for being hit by a meteor.

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Dad went back to Louisiana (he returns to Arkansas today until late October...maybe more?). He is doing very well. It helps that he is very active and engaged. He is surrounded by friends and is great added value to everyone so his days seem to be filled with projects and visiting and life. Good for him! He does talk about "Judy" constantly but not in a mournful, stuck in the past way. I doubt, however, that his private moments with her spirit are as relentlessly upbeat as mine tend to be. Janet's either.

.Janet's life is a bit more like my own. Back to the grindstone. I may never see the light of day again due to the build up of unfinished business, friendships/etc in disrepair, not taking care of myself physically and general egg-on-my-face that has accumulated in the nearly 2 years of my Mother's serious illnesses (first her heart then the cancer) and my frequent long absences from San Francisco to take care of her. Now I have two more friend's with ovarian cancer. As you may recall, I had another die after a 2 year battle of the same disease the month Mother's heart "blew up" in November 2007. My goal is to try and get my life back in some order despite these serious calls to arms that keep cropping up in my life.

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Janet has a demanding job as psychiatric nurse, raising one daughter at home and assisting a son in college. Ariel will be going to college in a year or so and is doing very well, as is Wolf in his final year of undergraduate but it does take effort to be there for them, I am certain. Chip, her husband, had some health scares last year but also seems to be doing well now. Janet's current added stress is going down to the farm nearly every week to help Dad clear out the buildup of 50 plus years of Mother's things, paperwork, etc. Thus, she is experiencing the "falling behind" syndrome I am now buried under as she tries to help Dad get on top of his situation.
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Nonetheless, fear not, we are doing very, very well as I trust you are. I know Mother would want you all to be having a joyous, engaged and happy life. Certainly we should with what time is given to each of us!

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But, I need to get my Butt in gear and trot off to work. First I'll make my choppers gleam and make my MaMa proud!

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Avanti!

Jeff for Judy

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PS I took some photos of the garden, which Mother loved while writing this. She would have loved to be here strolling about sipping her coffee and looking at all the spiders, flowers and random goings on of nature on this picture perfect still morning.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=34482&id=1386291201

PPS Here is a lovely piece I just read. Apropos?

My Brain on Chemo:

Alive and Alert
By DAN BARRY

Within the chemotherapy alumni corps there exists a mutual respect not unlike the bond shared by veterans of war. Sometimes that respect is silently conveyed; not everyone wants to talk about it. And sometimes it is shared in the shorthand of the battle-hardened.

Where?

Esophagus.

Who?

Sloan-Kettering.

What kind?
Cisplatin, fluorouracil, Drano,
Borax ...

Side effects?
The usual: nausea,

vomiting, hair loss. And the toes are still numb.
Yeah.

At this point the two chemo alums may begin to sense a phantom metallic taste at the back of their throat, a taste sometimes prompted by the intravenous infusion of the corrosive chemicals intended to save their lives. A strong drink might be in order; maybe two.

With that first, taste-altering sip, the two might begin to discuss another side effect that has received attention lately, the one rudely called “chemo brain”: the cognitive fogginess that some patients experience after completing their regimen. That fogginess does not always completely lift, and oncologists are now taking seriously what they might once have dismissed as a complaint rooted in advanced age or cancer fatigue.

For me, reading about chemo brain has resurrected that faint taste of metal. I underwent chemotherapy in 1999 and again in 2004, thanks to a profoundly unwelcome recurrence. Depending on one’s perspective, I was both unfortunate and fortunate. Unfortunate in that I endured all the concomitant fears and indignities, twice. Fortunate in that I had the option of chemotherapy, twice. Not all cancers respond; not everyone is so lucky.

I experienced all the typical side effects. Nausea: for several days at a time, though vomiting sometimes broke the monotony. Hair loss: I was balding anyway, so chemo saved me from comb-over delusions. Neuropathy: even now, my toes feel as if they were wrapped in cotton.

And, I now think, chemo brain — but a form that seems to be the common definition’s opposite. My self-diagnosis is that I had a pre-existing case of fogginess that lifted during and immediately after my chemotherapy regimen: I suddenly experienced acute clarity. Then, as the effects and memory of chemotherapy faded, my confusion returned. Twice.

In 1999, before the diagnosis of cancer and the prognosis of let’s hope for the best, I was enveloped in the haze of the everyday. Rather than rejoicing in a loving wife, a daughter not yet 2, a job I enjoyed — in being, simply, 41 — I created felonies out of matters not worth a summons. Traffic jams. Work conflicts. No Vienna Fingers in the cupboard. Felonies all.

Cancer, as is often said, tends to focus the mind. But my diagnosis hovered in the theoretical until the moment I began the first of six rounds of chemotherapy, each one requiring a five-day hospital stay. The nurse hung bags of clear, innocent-looking liquid from an IV pole, found a plump vein along my right arm — and the fog slowly lifted.
Sickened by the mere smell of food, I suddenly saw the wonder in the most common foods: an egg, a hard-boiled egg. Imprisoned and essentially chained to an IV pole, I would stare out my hospital room window at the people below, and feel a rush of the purest envy for their routine pursuits. Imagining the summer night air blowing cool through sweat-dampened shirts, I’d think how good a $3 ice cream would taste right about now, or a $5 beer, and how nice it would be to watch a baseball game of no consequence.

Men acting like boys, hitting, throwing, running on grass. I used to play baseball.

In the morning, after urinating away the remnants of poisons pumped into me, I would roll my IV-pole partner back to the window and study again the people below, moving, hustling, ambling, to jobs, to appointments, to a diner, maybe, for one of the fried-egg sandwiches served countless times every morning in Manhattan.

Gradually, from midsummer to late fall, the chemotherapy transformed me into a bald guy whose pallor was offset only by the hint of terror in his eyes. But the chemo also wiped away the muddle, revealing the world in all its mundane glory. I won’t tell you that I wept at the sight of a puppy. But I did linger over my sleeping daughter to watch her tiny chest rise and fall. I did savor the complexities of a simple olive. I did notice fireflies, those dancing night sparks I had long ago stopped seeing.

After the chemotherapy, radiation and a few weeks to allow things to settle down, as my doctor put it, I was declared “clean” in February 2000. Never again, I vowed, would I take these simple things for granted. I was blind, but now I see.

The fog, of course, returned as the effects and memory of chemo faded, no matter that my wife and I were now blessed with two daughters. How I hated traffic jams. And the Vienna Fingers! Who ate the last Vienna Finger?

Then, in the late spring of 2004, probably while I was railing about something eminently unimportant, my cancer impolitely returned. Once again I felt the frigid breath of mortality at my neck. I also felt like a fool. What is the use of surviving cancer if you don’t learn from it? Are improved by it? Am I so thick that I need to receive the life-is-precious message twice?

I returned to Sloan-Kettering for more chemotherapy and more of the same side effects — including my own manifestation of chemo brain. Fog lifted, world revealed.

After the chemotherapy came major surgery, which provided the exclamation point to whatever chemo was trying to tell me. Once again I was declared clean. And this time, by God! This time!

I became a walking platitude, telling friends without a trace of irony to live every day as though it were their last. Because, man, I’ve been there. And if I weren’t so repressed I’d give you a hug.

Slowly, insidiously, the fog of the everyday has returned to enshroud me. It came in wispy strips, a little more, then a little more, wrapping me like a mummy. Just the other day, in the car with my wife and my two daughters, I began railing about being stuck in a traffic jam.

Perspective, my wife said. Perspective.

I could not hear her. You see, I’m struggling with this pre-existing human condition.
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Dan Barry writes the “This Land” column in The New York Times.

55 years together...nearly

Today would have been Judy and Paul's 55th wedding anniversary. I know he has been thinking about her and the rich years they had together with poignancy and love all day.

Should you wish to reach Paul at any time in the future he will have his old number restored, to a cell phone, by the end of July at the latest. That number which he and Mother shared on the farmstead for nearly 50 years is:

337-923-4692

(until the end of July try PJ first at 415-601-7726)

I am certain he will appreciate hearing from you and definitely needs the distraction.

PJ will also be back on the farm probably by mid-June so you can send mail there:

398 Vacherie Road, Franklin, Louisiana 70538

It has been a sad time for the family without Judy but, in many ways, much better than the time she was in serious decline. We are filled mostly with the joy of having known so well a person as special as Judy and gratitude that her period of suffering was very short and over with now.

Judy is Gone

Mother died this morning around 3:50 AM. It was very peaceful. I suspect she had some irregularity in heart beats and her heart just stopped. She radiated calm.

I probably will write more later but, as you can imagine, I am a bit overwhelmed right now.

The essentials are that Miz Judy did not want a funeral and will be cremated.

If you would like to remember this marvelous lady no need to send flowers....Mom's garden is in lovely full bloom right now. Rather, a contribution to a charity of your choice would do mother proper honor.

She loved so many of you as I know you loved her. I trust we will all recover from our loss soon and carry her special, lovely memory with us each and every day.

One of those special memories: Judy and Jeff Italy 2006

Jeff

PS Mother always was concerned about children and animals in need. Food for the Poor (http://www.foodforthepoor.org/ ), Doctors without Borders (http://doctorswithoutborders.org) and the NRDC (www.nrdc.org). She participated in and was ver fond of The First Methodist Church. They can always use the money (First United Methodist Church, 920 Main St, Franklin, LA 7028). Finally but not last, you may recall that she was going to vicariously enjoy Angelo's ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles. No doubt she will be their on his handlebars in spirit when he speeds out at the crack of dawn on 1 June 2009. Not too late to contribute: www.tofighthiv.org/goto/angelo

The Spirit of Youth

A delightful packet arrived special delivery today from Mother's little friend, Eli. He and his brother, mom and dad will be jetting off to Guatemala very soon so they popped this marvelous gift of Eli's art and their family pics to mother.

The timing was none too soon for Mom was alert enough for a brief time to enjoy the color and Eli's smiling face. I thought I would share a bit of youthful joy and wonder with you, as I did with mother, through the kindness of her good friends.

Jeff

One Day at a Time

Reports are that we have had six times the normal amount of rain for this time of year in tis region of Arkansas. I would surmise that most of that deluge has dropped during the month I have been here. The sodden, dark days match the mood in Shangri-La where we linger by the bedside of MizFlounce expecting her final leavetaking to occur at any time.


Mother now seems to not know who any of us are when she is semi- conscious. She is eating nothing at all and has only a few sips of water a day. I guess that she remains comfortable, if there is any appropriate way to describe what her experience is like. Perhaps better is to say she is in no pain.

It is hard to imagine how anyone could remain alive more than a very few days taking in as little food and water as Mother has for the past 2 weeks. Now that her intake is close to zero her death cannot be far away?

Jeff

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The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

Creatures of the Night

Ever since Queen Janita arrived at Shangri-La bizarre Creatures of the Night have been fluttering about. I don't know if this means she is a sorceress who casts a pall upon her nocturnal minions or they just smell something juicy. I consulted with Mother and she smiled but gave me no insights into the correct way to divine this situation.

A QueenJanita Nocturnal Visitor

Miz Judy does not laugh and giggle now...she grows more tired with each passing day. Nonetheless, she does seem to be in good spirits and comfortable. Mother is very, very thin so I pick her up and carry her to her perch on the verandah sometimes. I do not think she will be able to make any more trips in the wheelchair down the road or to the dock on Lake Hamilton. She is on oxygen supplementation at all times now and is utterly exhausted by being lifted onto the bedside commode. Guests are far beyond her strength.

Dad is a trooper but increasingly distressed and sad. He spends more time than ever out in the garden and garage doing projects but, at night, I notice he does not sleep much and stares at nothing much of the time. I am certain this is very hard for him. Janet and I stay busy and engaged taking care of Mother so that helps us.

Mom does mention all of you at times...still. Always with love and affection.

Jeff for Judy

Dire .... then less so

QueenJanita, Mr. Frog and Miz Judy have a rest

Miz Judy was doing pretty badly until the combo of meds I have been giving her to combat the severe constipation caused by the pain meds "kicked in" about 3 days ago. As one of my friends would put it, "great and prodigious results were achieved". Since that time Mother has been eating and drinking a very, very small amount and is comfortable. She has been in excellent spirits ... grinning and laughing much of the time.

The weather has also dried out so she has seated herself on a daily basis in her chariot (the wheelchair) and off we ride down to the lakeside dock or up and down the road of the "gated community" to view the nicely landscaped gardens. Yesterday, upon our return, she ordered "I want you to get mountains of flowers and have them all around the driveway, walks ... everywhere!! That will knock the neighbors out..."

She is getting weaker but at a slower pace than before. Mom seems to be unaware that she is ill in any direct way. The closest she comes is "I can see in people's eyes that something very serious is going on here".

Jeff for Judy

Funtimes

Nearly 12 days of relentless rain and darkness to be broken about 30 minutes ago by a lovely evening sunshine. Mother is sleeping now as she has done nearly all day but she did wake for a bit when the sun broke through and said, "These are the funtimes". I appreciate her cooperative kindness which is always evident even as she suffers this relentless, stalking and cruel disease. If I ask her directly how she feels she invariably says, "fine, fine". But at other times she will make sad and poignant comments to the air like "I think something is alive in my belly" and "I'm so tired of this, so tired". I am convinced she is not feeling any physical pain, however.

She is eating and drinking virtually nothing now....2 bites of scrambled eggs this morning and a few sips of water just enough to down her pain medication. Mizflounce is too, too tired to bestow her lovely smile on me any longer but she did answer a question I put to her with a touch of her old twinkle. "Mother, who is coming to visit you tomorrow?" to which she slowly but confidently responded..."QueenJanita!" I then put to her "and who do you think is going to collect her at the airport?". Mom knew that one too..."BlgBiscuits"

Don't get me wrong, it is very hard. While writing this I hear her moan across the room softly and begin to sit up. With my usual bravado I stride over and say "Why what does the Great Matron need? I am totally at your service!". "Pee pee" is the only response.

With great difficulty I help her stand and get to the bedside commode which is immediately beside the bed. Mother then is not able to sit. Unfortunately, Dad walks in at that moment and helps me sit her down. Nothing happens so I get her to stand and then just pick her up and place her back in bed. Dad, of course, is overwhelmed and hurries from the room. I see him crying in the living room.


Mom has settled in again to her nest with Mr. Frog, the music of Bach in the background. She rests peacefully in the twilight...

Jeff for Judy

Mother's Day...

Mother moved about and woke for a bit at 4 AM. She asked me for a sip of water, stared a bit into the dark void of her bedroom and then gave a heartfelt "Thank y...o....u". Always gracious and sweet even now. The sun did not rise this morning, dark clouds and rain, but she did find her room and window filled with flowers...something she still appreciates to a degree. Pod, Shelby, Randy and Linda, her friends and relatives, all brought baskets of flowers. Trailing lantana and wonderful pink impatiens. That combined with Tina's bouquet and the enormous one I have thrown together all dance before her eyes when she is awake. That is not very often today. But, be assured since I have been present she has not experienced any pain. Her mood also seems dreamily copacetic and benign.


Mother is eating less and less, about a glass of Ensure yesterday and probably less today. She never asks for anything even water. When she is awake and alert I carry on a type of conversation with her. We go freewheeling all over the place without making a bit of sense. I don't think Dad has quite the gift for this type of non-sequitur conversational style. He mostly sits silently with her and pats her a bit before getting too upset and leaving. I will have to encourage him to do what I do....when she is quiet with her eyes closed I often sit and go down memory lane supposing she is listening. When we are failing one of the last things to go is hearing. Mother may be having random periods of lucidity and tracking what I or you or anyone may be saying...even if there is no external evidence. At the very least I know mother finds my voice soothing as well as a soft massage of the neck, upper back and scalp. I think I will help her get a long and luxurious bath and select her most silky gown as fitting accoutrement's to Her Day!

But that will not happen today. Perhaps tomorrow. Mother could barely walk with assistance the few steps to the toilet this morning. I did give her two back, neck and scalp massages along with a total body rubdown with deliciously scented oil. I was finishing off the dance of the emollients, slowly kneading her left forearm when Mother looked at me and said, "you are so funny!" pause then, "I have always felt that for us the thing" longer pause followed by "the thing...the thing....the thing.....the thing...." just trailing off to nothing.

This is all very, very difficult as you probably can imagine. I am fairly good at self-control but this drenching in the bittersweet is enough to drown anyone.

Jeff for Judy

PS Happier times. Mother enjoys a jaunt to her home-away-from-home south of Siena, Italy in 2005.

Further update from Jeff

Mother and I had a wonderful conversation this morning on her veranda Shangri-La. Clear as a bell. MizFlounce was clocked in...albeit not at full force. Given I was talking with her about her situation and its significance that might take the jollity out of any tête-à-tête.

Why the dramatic improvement? It is not possible to say for certain. Sometimes folks going into a final decline have periods of increased energy, orientation and general lucidity apropos of nothing. I think Mother's may be due to the fact I suspect she has not been taking her thyroid medications for some time. That can cause anyone to be considerably slowed down, physically and mentally, even when in the pink of health. I restarted her on her thyroid med about 4 days ago plus two other medications that improve energy and mental acuity at the same time. Could these changes be producing positive results?


The more Christian or, at the very least, spiritual among you may be delighted to know that Mother has been chatting with a kind and intelligent chaplain for the past 45 minutes, Susan Miller. I arranged for her to come over today. And following this visit ... as much as Mother wants.

Mother was raised Methodist and is very comfortable with the Christianity with a very small "c". She is just put out by folks who have the "do-not-doubt" approach to their beliefs no matter what their religious background. Chaplain Miller definitely does not seem doctrinaire or proselytizing so I think it may be a good match.

Mother's friend, Tina has had some lovely white daisy's and pink roses sent in a glowing ruby glass vase just delivered. Elegant and lovely! I will sign off and trot them out to Mother. The timing could not be better. She will see and enjoy them completely. Thanks to you Tina and to everyone. Let us hope this improvement holds....and continues.

The day is lovely after many days of torrential downpours. I cut and collected a few of Mother's beloved peonies to put on her desk.


Jeff

a friend of mother and myself in San Francisco, Sally Pincus, sent her this card. Very clever and sweet it is. The imagery has some significance...Mother is so enjoying her garden, the Monarch Butterflies are self-explanatory given her blog entry for a few days ago and my friends call my "hedgehog" sometimes due to my very thick upright brown hair.
http://www.jacquielawson.com/viewcard.asp?code=1859814908006&source=jl999

PS I have no idea what this change might mean in relation to her chemotherapy? Perhaps it might be re-initiated? Nonetheless, the prognosis is still not even close to what one might call "good"...

PPS: One or two fun-filled quotes from mother this morning for you.
1. "How do I feel about my declining health? Weird. One day you are old and worn out. That's strange enough. Then your body starts drawing back for the knock out blow. It's so weird. It's me."
2. I read to Mom an email from her old friend, Ann Dunker who had many loving and kind things to say about Mother. "Ann is one of the world's really good people. What she said means so much to me." then a pause and MizFlounce looks up with a twinkle in her eye..."but where's the money? Times are tough. Call Ann and tell her I'll consider it a late payment for Easter" another pause..."I think Ann needs a bit of a good time on the side. Some good looking man" another pause..."but then she is not that kind of person" another pause adding "she is very sensible with money and would never spend it on anything like that you know."
3. Kelsey Hall sent a card arriving today detailing the excitement of a huge bird in her pool appearing along with 11 "birdlings" ... all of whom disappeared in a cloud of sparkles before she could scamper out to more fully appreciate them. Mother ... "How e -g -g -g - c - i - t- i - n - g...." (Mother is beginning to have droopy lids now). "Be certain to tell Kelsey I have four BIG birds and 11 tiny ones that sashay through here every day." (two families of geese have shown up; one pair have five goslings and the other has six). "Shur hope Pod doesn't show up and blow them to smithereens with his shotgun"

A Word or Two

Dear Everyone,

I just came back with Mother from her appointment with Dr. Muldoon at the Genesis Center.

She has been eating and drinking very little over the past 2 weeks or so and is increasingly confused and lethargic. Even at her best she has virtually no memory and can track only the most concrete of conversations. She did not follow my conversation with the doctor. Perhaps for the best. I think she mostly forgets she has cancer and says things like "I hope I am not coming down with something!"

Mother will not be receiving any further chemotherapy. I will be meeting with a hospice nurse in about 30 minutes to set all of that up for improved in-home care..

Mother actually is her usual graceful and kindly self. For the most part she seems in good spirits (when I am assiduous in keeping the pain under control). Dad is very, very upset but is great with her and a solid trooper in handling all of this. She said on the way to the doctors..."that Paul Edmund...he's become a total angel. And he never stops doing, doing, doing. I wonder what has gotten in to him..."

Who knows how long she will last. It seems to me that the cancer is now progressing very, very swiftly. I hope she will have have as peaceful a time of it, that which remains, as she has presently.

I know all of you care for her and she truly appreciates that. As do Dad, Janet and myself.

A bientot!

Jeff for Mom

כְּלוּ Ei mitään! Ingenting! Ничего! Τίποτα! Niets! Niente! Rien! Nada! Khe chaina! Gar nichts! Awan-Ilocano! Kuch nahin! 무가치! Nashi nai! τιποτα δεν!

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Yup...Mr. CT Scan

just told me I have

nothing

in my head

except a shimmering cloud

of Monarch Butterflies

Thank Goodness!

We now know where

QueenJanita's

Baby's are

Judy, The Blissful ,

Home of Monarchs!
(via jeff)


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A Bird sings in the Dark

QueenJanita has expended weeks, days and hours of prodigious effort succoring her babies, Monarch butterfly caterpillars. Acres of garden center plants have died to fatten them up. Yesterday QJ told me one of her profound tales which I, as yet, cannot discern the meaning of.

Her adored caterpillars had transformed into glistening chrysalides. Eagerly she awaited the day of Final Incarnation, the spread of dark wings and the lofting on winds to Mexico.

Off she trudged to work, heart filled with the song of anticipation. In hospital the usual slings-and-arrows of crazed patients and staff greeted her. That day in the saltmines of N'awlin's Health Care System was especially relentless and noisome.

Finally, after many hours of futile labor, she slammed the rubber room doors. Off she rattled and whined down the potholed N'awlins highways inserted on her tiny Vespa to embrace the moment of Monarch Release! The closer she got to her ramshackle abode the more beauty and joy began to breathe life into her tired bones; her coagulated brain.

QueenJanita raced breathlessly into her garden to greet her lovelies only to find row after row of what looked like tiny, broken beer bottles left after an evening of drunken debauchery. Nary a butterfly in sight. Vamoose! Off to their own Tequila Sunrise.

I suspect the Queen probably then applied the Balm of Gilead. Can you see her

.What kinda story is THAT! That child of mine is a deep and wily creature so, I am certain, there is a message in the bottle of her tale. Am I to gather as Rabindranath Tagore has said: “Faith is the bird that sings when the dawn is still dark”. Or, that wonders abound in our magic garden even when we gaze not? Could it be Life is just a Big Ol' Stink Bomb?

Despite or because of that amazing yarn of Janet's I am as wretched a piece of species Homo Sapien as you could hope for today. Just as I was yesterday, etc, etc. But it would appear to me that the more bedraggled and frightful I become the more glorious my own garden gets. Never no mind QueenJanitas'.

I do wish you were here to stand bedazzled before my legions of gleaming white, pink, red, rainbow azaleas and rhododendrons.

"Why lookeee! Over there, Big Biscuits! Are those Monarch butterflies on my 'tunias?"

Monarch of All I Survey,
Judy (via jeff)

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Crawling along

My Dear, Dear Reader,

The last few days prove, once again, the constant ups-and-downs of my illness. I am now down. Skip the rest if you wish. You've heard it before.

The last two nights have had me tossing and turning and fretting, my mind spinning from one fragment of an agitated thought-ette to the next. Then I arise to enter a semi-awake state alternating between stupor and complete obtundation as the sun completes its chariot ride through the sky. My conversations seem coherent to me (?) but I don't have the mental energy (or ability) to follow anything too complicated or abstract.

For example: "Judy, my name is Shelby. I am your niece" would fall in the got it! eureka category for me. But "Judy, I looked out from the kitchen window this morning while brewing us up a cuppa and saw a moose humping Mad Dawg, my chihuahua. Mad Dawg looks like a cowpatty now." Huh? is Doak talking about a neighbor and my trashcan? Is my gown open? Is Ann Coulter coming for tea?!!

I suppose this neither here-nor-there state could be linked to the fact I had a double whammy 2 hour Gemzar dosing on Wednesday and then a double dose of contrast for my CT scan on Friday. Historically both make me more ill. Still, as much as I would like to banish the thought from my mind, the cancer itself, especially the tumors screwing up my liver, must be contributing muchly to the funk.

I have been such a shadow of myself of late I have not shambled out to my deck Shangri-La this season despite a few weeks of lovely weather. And my nesting areas there are just steps from where I tend to sit drifting in and out of sleep in my indoor chair. Paul has even started answering the phone for the most part (NOT generally done in our time together) and handing it to me if I am both alert and compos mentis enough to take a call.

Books? I go through the motions but generally find it hard to stay awake long enough to finish the page. Then I have to re-read it since I cannot recall what I have read. And again. And again. My library consists of one extremely well-worn page. Don't ask me what it is about.

Think "Groundhog Day"*

My life moves at a glacial pace. I wonder if my bad days are outnumbering my good; that with my current definition of good being "dispirited" and "exhausted".

And...my pain is back. Not FiresOfHell. More like that apocryphal frog sitting in the slowing heating stovetop pot of water.

Slumping forward in my chair, perhance to drool,
Judy (via jeff)

*Plot summary for "Groundhog Day". Produced 1993.
A weather man is reluctantly sent to cover a story about a weather forecasting "rat" (as he calls it). This is his fourth year on the story, and he makes no effort to hide his frustration. On awaking the 'following' day he discovers that it's Groundhog Day again, and again, and again. First he uses this to his advantage, then comes the realisation that he is doomed to spend the rest of eternity in the same place, seeing the same people do the same thing EVERY day. .

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Delirium, chemobrain, 40 years of cancer research

Mother did go in yesterday for her CT scan and will let you know the results as soon as possible. She is doing fine.

I am writing directly today to pass along a bit of information. One of the reasons chemotherapy agents affect memory and learning ability is because our brains constantly produce new neuronal tissue. When we are exposed to anything novel or challenging the hippocampus and limbic systems (the areas that also regulate our general mood/motivation/energy/attention) go into production mode and create new synapses and cells to adapt to the new stimulus coming in. Thus the value of taking on new jobs, tasks, hobbies, languages, etc throughout our lives.

However, these new cells are only transient in nature because the brain keeps what is pertinent and useful to our lives. Not much more. We need to persist in our exposure to the new to cement the gains. Additionally, we must get good sleep, nutrition and exercise so that the machinery of cell creation in the brain is well oiled and efficient. Bad habits...drinking, probably hypnotics (like prescribed sleep medications eg Ambien, Lunesta, Sonata, Restoril, etc) irregular sleep and even worse behavior can wash away or, at least, sharply reduce the brains capacity to learn and adapt.

Many Chemotherapy agents work by killing cells that are rapidly dividing IE being born. Thus, the process of memory creation and neuronal adaptation in the brain are arrested with every treatment Mother gets.

Sigh...everything has a price. Some prices we pay are considerable.

The effects of Mother's ongoing chemotherapy treatments, in various forms, accounts for her "chemobrain". Her recent confusional state was something more and mostly unrelated. The opiates used for pain control are a double edged sword as is chemo. But these agents can act more to scramble the coordinated flow of neurochemical reactions in the brain in a more widespread fashion if the dose is too high. Result: varying degrees of delirium*

Dr. Muldoon, just to be on the safe side, is looking into mother's brain via scans to be certain that her cancer has not spread to the brain. He actually believes this to be unlikely but better safe...

I was not present for his conversation with Mother last Monday but her reproduction of its contents seems plausible. In other words, I think her memory was a better than usual and there was no evidence of any lingering confusional state now that her mediation dosing has been reduced. Also great news is that her pain has not returned on the lower dose of fentanyl (the pain patch) and stopping the oral pain medications. Her appetite is better as well.

All of us can only hope that the Gemzar she is now on is truly having more impact than former treatments. Reading the tea leaves and assuming Mother's memory of her conversation with Dr. Muldoon is accurate he really thinks this is the case and is not giving a doctor's usual reassuring murmurings.

I am delighted that more order has been brought to the problem of organization and consistancy in Mom and Dad's medications. This issue just had to be dealt with and that appears to be what has happened. The St. Joseph's Home Health Care program gives early evidence of being efficient, thorough and offers a wide-range of services. A rarity in our medical system today. Mother has struck it very lucky, indeed with the excellent quality of her doctors and the ancillary services they have recommended to her.

Of course, she is such a charmer she could get a King Cobra to give her a kiss and run errands for her.

I will be out there again very soon and then Janet to follow me. Dad wants us to stagger our visits. Mother mentioned the stress of paying bills which, I agree, should be removed from her shoulders. If I had her ongoing problems in concentration and memory would be very daunted at trying to carry out something so important. Dad could, of course, do this but he does have quite a bit on his plate and Mother has, historically, always done this task so he does not have the habits in place to take care of it well right now.

Mother constantly talks about how very considerate, thoughtful and concerned Dad is. I have certainly noticed this on my visits as well. Cudos to the great man!

Sorry that I have not had the opportunity to speak with Mother yet to day so that I could gather up some of her wonderfully droll comments and observations to further embellish and render onto the page here.

Jeff

* Delirium: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delirium

An article you might like the development of cancer treatments over the last few decades appeared in the Health Section of the New York Times yesterday. You may find it of interest?

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/24/health/policy/24cancer.html

A Typical Day in Shangri-La

Midnight Judy

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Noonday Judy

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Paul tries to decipher my communications

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Still not quite Right

I am afraid I have misled my public. I did not (surprise!) get my schedule right. I go in tomorrow for my brain CT scan. Nothing is on the docket for today. Yesterday I saw Dr. Muldoon and his eyes definitely did not bulge out of his head as he read my tests results. In fact, for the first time ever he seemed really, really reassuring about my response to the Gemzar. My CA-125 (the blood cancer marker is down) and some other results look good. He also thinks that my quick improvement mentally upon reducing my pain meds and other changes indicates I might not have brain metastasis.

We will see but, for the first time ever, I don't think he was just slathering on the Happy Talk I love. This conversation seemed more substantially reassuring.

Yet...I am not right in the head. I have always been more than a bit eccentric in my mental meanderings but now some new, hard to describe and definitely not normal twists have been added. I am not so confident about the results of my CT scan tomorrow as Dr. Muldoon seems to be.

Enough of the good news has sunk in though to prevent me from spending all the day long bending over to to kiss my old ass goodbye! Glad I have the high steppin' now to replace the aerobic benefits of all that bending...

One problemo I do need to get on top of is paying bills and that sort of thing. Way bad, let me tell you! Makes me very, very anxious. My plan is to add yet another millstone to the necklace that adorns Jeff's neck and have him take all of that over for us. Despite having a mind and mouth that are both alarming and excitingly unpredictable Jeff is, in terms of behavior that manifests in the real world, unnaturally conscientious, honest and predictable. Go figure. But I need to cash in on the last bits more than ever. Don't you agree?

Another problem is my poor appetite and not always eating the things I should. Jeff suggested a party where the guests bring their healthiest, tastiest, freezable Kitchen Wonders. We would serve nibbles and drinks in exchange for their creativity and kindness. That would be a great way to stock the freezer with things that can be pulled out to hit the table within minutes that might pass my, now, very discriminating and capricious tummy.

Expect an invite soon! As soon as we eat and clear out the 15,000 lbs of boudin Paul's friends brought from S. Louisiana last week.

I just learned that my dear friend, Steve Brown, has throat cancer. What a plague this whole cancer thing is. Since getting it I have learned that nearly everyone I know has dealt with it or it has touched them in very direct ways via friends and family with it. Steve! we are there for you and I especially know how difficult getting such a diagnosis is. Keep me informed. If I prayed I would have them pouring out for you. Since I don't...you have my love and healing vibrations at your beck and call.

Angelo, my amazing bicyclist friend, is entering the home stretch for his ride to Los Angeles on 1 June to raise money for AIDS. He just told me that he will collect pictures and videos for me and send them ... ones I can use on the TV and not have to approach the feared computer. Today he has gone on a 95 mile training ride. Good Lordie...even the concept of 95 miles with a bicycle seat inserted is mind blowing. He is even been going to hospice training classes in the evening with me as the inspiration (!!!!hope it never comes to that) and said, "I'll come out there and stay and do whatever you need whenever you need it!".

Wow! what a friend. I hope you've made your contribution to his ride. I've chided you before but now I mean it. This dude is too good to be true. Pennies count since I think he is just shy of his goal.

www.tofighthiv.org/goto/angelo

The day is lovely here. Cynthia, the great lady who comes over to clean and help in the fight against entropy is here creating order and beauty.

In the moment,
Judy (via jeff)

Goose-Steppin'

Günther, Physical Therapist

Things are looking up! My physical therapist, Günther, came by for the first time today and urged me to swing my tootsies high. His theory is that this will stimulate "blood brain circulation" and improve self-esteem. Günther will be putting steel in my spine and springs in my hips twice a week. We shall wait and see if any blood starts flowing in my head...

I already feel like a wound-up whirligig! His words of frenzied wisdom buzz round my head non-stop. His touch was profoundly healing. The whole package ... enthralling.

Herr G expects me to be doing hopping hand-stands in near future. Perhaps Big Biscuits will join in the fun? I can see us now...arms locked bouncing up and down Main Street in Hot Springs.

I will have to bring this simple technique to the attention of Holli, Chocolate Impresario, for the further empowerment of our local womenfolk.

Finally something new and different around this less than invigorating corner of the planet! When Herr G visits me again he won't know what hit him. Not only will I be goose steppin' up, down and sidewise I also intend to lay some moves on him. Wait til he gets a load of my jitterbug and Lindy Hop!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qg2yd-xD5RA

Filled with the Force...
Judy (via jeff)

*Der Stechschritt (literally: "piercing step"): the goose step is a special step that women of power are adopting throughout the American South. Historically, this prancing footwork was performed in exciting, fun-filled parades by persons of blondness. These days Southern ladies of discernment are the ones who swing their leg from the vertical to a horizontal, fully extended position only to slap that rigid leg and foot down on the pavement with a bang. Then the next leg. And so on in perpetuity. This 'high-steppin' , as it is called in places like Charleston and Little Rock, requires formidable dexterity, balance and force of will. The purpose of high-steppin' is to demonstrate absolute mechanized discipline and superiority. It also increases blood flow to the head.

**Here are the study videos Günther left for me...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6PxkeOIMA8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGp0hCxSg98

He also suggests I learn this party trick to rid myself of unwanted house guests:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HX_5zIXxKEU

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This is not a sequel. There has never been anything like it!

Jeff called from the San Francisco waterside where he was strolling and watching the sun rise. I could recall what he was saying from one sentence to the next...water calm with a few sailboats, water cerulean, sun red gold and the GG Bridge glowing. Blah, blah, blah. Wish I was there! or, preferably, Jeff would shut up about how fabulous Frisco is.

Cerulean?

Some conversations are best forgotten!

The point? This state of relative clarity is a vast improvement over where I was just 24 hours ago. Then I would have gotten off the phone with Jeff in 2 - 3 minutes (instead of our typical 4 -5 mins) because I would have not been able to figure out what the Hell he was talking about. Given recent events I now suspect my problem was OD'ing on pain meds/patches/xanax/whatever and not that I have nasty bits now lodged in my cranium. I suppose my CT scan of the brain Tuesday next will reveal all.

Pod Buie and Randy Jones, my nephews, are here scarfing up all of our soft shelled crabs and boudin (it is the late afternoon now). They just told me "you actually make a little sense now, Judy".

"Why, I never!". I vigorously ejaculated in response. Let me tell you, I was shocked nearly beyond recall by their effrontery...

Is it desirable or merely worrisome that these loving lads can actually understand me now? If I could remember the recent past, I probably would find some solace in having been the reincarnation of the Oracle of Delphi* for a time. My "sources" tell me that Ariel, my granddaughter, after having a telephone conversation with me about two days ago likened my responses to this woman's: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwq2xSDBQfw Except much less comprehensible. Loose association was the operative word during that "not remembered by me fur shur" conversation.

Ariel got off the phone and promptly had a hysterical breakdown. "Grandmother is a goneeeeeer!!!" She then est tombée dans les pommes.**

I am not entirely certain the child can be entirely believed. Even as a newborn Ariel had a mischievous, wicked streak that could shine forth at any time. Very random though. Just enough to keep you off balance. Generally she is a BuddhaBabee of Luv...

Ariel Wusthoff: 3 days old

I do recall Ariel, who is to graduate from High School in the not too distant future, has to be adorned with some residue of god since she attends a Catholic School. Our conversation revolved around the labyrinthine minutia of this cross versus that cross. Even at my best this is all mumbo jumbo. Might as well have a shaman telling me about the differences between voodoo curses. A woman who is feeling the wind of the Grim Reaper's scythe on her neck finds it hard to attend to an exposition on the relative merits of crosses. Even when it is her adored Granddaughter.

The Wise Reader will be asking herself, "I wonder just how much of that conversation with Ariel Judy has forgotten. Did it happen at all? Are persons who are under the weather always cranky?"

Sigh.... You are so very right to be curious about these things but I certainly cannot answer the first two questions. The last one is a unequivocal, "YES!"

Message in the bottle: when you are talking to me these days you'd best keep it short and close to home. Mine.

Well, Grandmother aka MizFlounce is back! And now I am the Monarch of Order. Chaos is henceforth banished from my kingdom. All due to the kindness of a stranger.

A delightful RN came by today to help get us sorted out here. Poor creature. I think when she saw how far Paul and I had progressed in achieving a state of maximum entropy*** she was felt inclined to fall back into her car and peel out heading for the hills. But, professionalism held sway and she marched through our portals, ashen faced, into the nursing equivalent of the Heart of Darkness.

Several hours later she shambled out muttering "I have other things I have to do today..." I felt for her but we still got our pound of flesh. She laboriously went through all of our medications. Between Paul and me you would assume the Sorcerer's Apprentice**** had come and forgotten to leave. Bottles, bottles everywhere but not a drop to drink? Well something like that. After our RN slave left I had my four daily meds lined up like compliant soldiers and not a mob of 45 random bottles spilling over the counter onto the floor. Paul likewise.

Pod has a theory that I, when conscious, shoved anything that resembled a pill into my mouth. I don't think it was that much of a Valley of the Dolls***** scene around here but it probably was close. Now life in our Lakeside Shangri-La could be displayed on "Father Knows Best" or "Sesame Street" without fear of censorship.

Happy Days! Here I am right before the nurse left. Paul, Randy, Pod and the put upon RN are in attendance...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kujWSIFoe94

Hope your day has ended as superbly as has mine! I still feel more than a bit funky but in comparison to the last few days of "there but for the grace of god" this is Valhöll******!

Judy (via jeff)

* Oracle of Delphi: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delphi "Delphi became internationally known for the Oracular powers of Pythia--the priestess who sat on a tripod, inhaled ethylene gasses, and muttered incomprehensible words."

** Tombée dans les pommes: Literally translated as, "falling in the apples," it is a colloquial expression that means passing out, fainting, losing consciousness.

*** Maximum Entropy: "entropy is a measure of disorder, and that nature tends toward maximum entropy for any isolated system"

****Sorcerer's Apprentice: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LD8HDta7Z_4

*****Valley of the Dolls: "A pill to wake up; a pill to go to bed..." http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Beyond_the_Valley_of_the_Dolls

******Valhöll aka Valhalla: Valhalla, Hall of the Slain, in Norse mythology is the hall presided over by Odin. This vast hall has five hundred and forty doors. The rafters are spears, the hall is roofed with shields and breast-plates litter the benches. A wolf guards the western door and an eagle hovers over it. It is here that the Valkyries, Odin's messengers and spirits of war, bring half of the heroes that died on the battle fields (the rest go to Freya's hall Folkvang). These heroes, the Einherjar, are prepared in Valhalla for the oncoming battle of Ragnarok. When the battle commences, eight hundred warriors will march shoulder to shoulder out of each door.
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