I've Been Absent

Hello.

I've been absent from my blog for some weeks. Life has squeezed my writing out of the way for a short period. I'll be back very soon.

Thanks for your patience.

Carol

As I Gather my Clothes for the Day

As I Gather my Clothes for the Day

I am caught at the window

by a slant of light,

by these oak leaves turning to gold.

The sunrise is singing the morning awake

with songs that melt on my skin

and underneath their spreading spell,

I breathe the buttery light

and dream of becoming the same,

dressed in mist and leaves and dew.

I stand long and long at the window

breathing the dazzling day.

As the skin of my life loosens,

I spark and ignite, burn,

and flow shimmering

into this welcoming light.

 

Photo and poem are ©copyright 2011-2013 Carol Steel.

Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

Wordless Wednesday

 

A Good Question

 

A Good Question

Enduring an encounter with serious illness and the possibility of death tested all my significant relationships.

Who was there for me through the months of illness?  Who suffered with me?  Who was really affected by the possibility that I might not return to health?

To whom did I really matter?

Answers were not easy to find, for people had different ways of showing they cared.

I acknowledged how difficult it was for friends and family.  I appreciated that they did what they could.  There were many who backed off and I was hurt and disappointed.  Some relationships I valued didn’t turn out to be the way I thought they were.  It wasn’t that people did not care; it was more likely they just didn’t know what to do or say. 

People helped and supported the best they could; sometimes they didn’t know how to do this.  Perhaps they thought ignoring what happened and trying to move on was best for everyone.

My own expectations were sources of disappointment.  When I felt tired, vulnerable and scared, the withdrawal of others from me did not help me.  It was as though I had contracted a shameful, contagious disease.  It hurt and yet I understood.

Thankfully, there were many who stayed in contact through cards, notes, emails and phone calls, dropped off meals, sent small gifts or flowers, made short but loving visits, listened and found ways to show that I mattered to them.

For them I was grateful.

Significant relationships were not all constant.  Many changed.

To whom did I really matter?

A good question.  A greater lesson. 

Miracles

 

 

There are two ways to live:

you can live as if nothing is a miracle;

you can live as if everything is a miracle.

 

Albert Einstein

Look Deep

 

 

Look deep into nature,

and then you will understand

everything better.

 

Albert Einstein

When Someone Has Cancer

When Someone Tells You They Have Cancer

“I have cancer.”

“What?”

“I have cancer” she said, as I watched her cut and pat and butter the dough she was making into rolls.

“I’m sorry, so sorry to hear that you are going through this.  What can I do to help you?”

“Nothing,” she said, “I don’t know what I’ll need.”

“I love you and will be here for you, whatever happens.”

“Thanks but I don’t know what the future will bring and I don’t know why this is happening to me.  I don’t know why God is punishing me…I’ve lived a good life.  I’m a good person.”

Now, facing cancer myself, I remember this scene in my grandmother’s kitchen.  I remember I was horrified that my Grandmother believed in a God, who would punish her with cancer.  I felt sorry she carried that strange belief, adding to her agony and worry over the disease.  And I don’t remember what I said to her to comfort her.

I hope I told her that I loved her, that she was important to me and that I would be there for her.  I hope I hugged her.  I hope she knew how much I loved her. 

Now, I know how it is...to tell someone, “I have cancer.”  And I have learned hard lessons about how difficult it is, for people who love me, to hear those words.  I have empathy with their sense of shock and worry and grief.   It isn’t easy to know what to say or do because everyone reacts differently and everyone copes differently.

Because of this universal discomfort with talking about cancer and because I have cancer, I feel the need to offer suggestions from my own experiences. 

So, in the hope of shedding light and offering support to those with cancer and to those who love them, here are my responses to the dilemma of what to say or do when someone you care for has cancer.

First, if you don’t know what to say or do, don’t be hard on yourself…it’s a common reaction and a human one.  Acknowledging that the news is difficult for you to hear is better than saying nothing at all.  Saying you don’t know what to do to help is OK too.  The person with cancer doesn’t always know what they need either.

If you can say, “I’m sorry” or “I care about you” or “I’ll help when you need a drive or a meal or a listening ear,” those comments are supportive. 

Don’t worry so much about saying the wrong thing.  Take your cues from the person with cancer.   They may need to talk, or to be quiet within themselves;  they are processing all of this new information, just like you are.

Avoid telling them stories about everyone you know who had cancer and died; do I need to explain why? 

Share positive stories.  Talk about normal everyday life; cancer doesn’t need to be the topic of every conversation. 

Respect their need to not talk some times.  Talking about it out loud makes it very real; makes it frightening.   They'll let you know when they need to discuss what is happening.   Be open to possibilities.

If you want to bring a gift, make sure it is something they want or can use.  Do they have allergies?  Are they having problems with nausea?  Do their cats eat flowers?  Do they like music?  Do they love chocolate?  Are they well enough to make their own meals?  Is there something they need but can’t get out to purchase?  Is there something totally impractical they would love to have?  Would they like to share a bottle of wine, and whine?  And, you don’t have to bring gifts.  Often just being with them is all they need. Yes, just you, really...you are gift enough.

Avoid saying things like:  “Well, you have large breasts anyway, so a chunk missing doesn’t matter.”  It matters, it matters a hell of a lot.  When a surgeon takes ice-cream scoop size portions of tissue from your body, it matters.  Think about it.  It isn't about breast size.  This presents a whole new set of challenges for the person with cancer.  Don't make them feel like they're wallowing in vanity when they are mourning the loss of parts of themselves.

Give hugs, but gently.  Surgery takes time to heal and incisions are often sore for a long period.  For the person with cancer, touch helps.  They are feeling isolated enough already and need all the comforting they can get.

Listen to them.  Let them talk about what the cancer is like for them.  If they cry, that’s OK.  You can cry too if you want.  The situation sucks and crying is an appropriate reaction.  Crying relieves stress. 

Remember to laugh with them too.

Don’t give unsolicited advice about how many pain pills they are taking.  It’s their pain, not yours.  The doctor knows what is happening and is supervising.

If the situation is effing awful, acknowledge that.  You saying, “Wow, that’s horrible!” may be a relief.  You can’t say anything that the person with cancer hasn’t already thought themselves.  Sometimes, it’s a relief to have the situation recognized and named.

Remind them to rest.  This situation is new to them and they may not realize how much the treatments and the stress are wearing on them.  They are struggling to find their way through this journey.

Send email messages or leave phone messages to let them know you are thinking of them.  They may not have the energy for visits or for long phone conversations.  Let them tell you what works best.  If you do visit, call first to see if they're feeling well enough for a visit.

Listen and pay attention to them.  Be patient.

Don’t say, “Cheer up, don’t think about it.”  They can’t stop thinking about it.  Let the person with cancer guide you in what is helpful to them.  Each person responds to their diagnosis differently. 

There is a fine line between giving people space and privacy and protecting yourself from becoming emotionally involved.  Some cannot and some don’t offer support; recognize what you can and cannot do.  Be gentle with yourself.  It doesn’t help the person with cancer if you force yourself to be there for them.  They’ll know the difference.  Again, be gentle with yourself in this situation.  We are all different.

Avoid saying: “I’ve read that women who are overweight are predisposed to breast cancer.”  Where do I begin?  This isn’t helpful; there are other factors involved like genetics and environment.  This blames the person for their disease and sounds like, “Well, you’re fat, so you deserve this.”  It is a nasty comment and you're an asshole, if you say such things.

Last, if the person with cancer is used to being independent, it may be excruciating for them to have to ask for help.  Keep offering and reassure them that you don’t mind helping, as long as you don’t.  If you do mind, it's OK; be truthful.  People who are dealing with serious illness appreciate the truth.

That’s all for now; if I think of anything else, I’ll write more another day.  I hope this helps you to understand and to be gentle with the person who has cancer, as well as to be gentle with your own reactions.

Oh!  And remember, breast cancer treatments have come a long way since my grandmother had cancer.  The sensitivity of the medical system has improved.  The modern equipment and the technology are able to diagnose and to treat cancer more effectively.  It is not the death sentence it once was, in my grandmother's time.

There is hope and there is life.  Every day, there is hope and there is life.

I choose life and I choose to share my own journey.

Yes, I have cancer but cancer doesn't have me.

Photo and words are © copyright Carol Steel.

Dragonfly

Dragonfly

Your ancient soul

is ever becoming

something other.

You begin as egg,

hatch to water nymph,

give up gills, leave the larval shell behind

for air and light and sun.

You transform again and again.

You warm your wings.

You dance on air

in sudden, shocking beauty,

elegant and iridescent.

Jewelled, precious creature,

you warm your cold blood

in the light

and become the light.

You scatter and refract;

you become the rainbow.

Your head, all eyes,

sees in every direction

except

behind you,

where winter and death

are stalking.

Yet, you refuse them.

You live.

You know

your shimmering self

will be reborn,

again and again

to walk the water,

to dance the air,

to feed from the wind.

Words and photos are ©copyright Carol Steel.

Today is a Gift

The heat of the sun, like a warm compress, soothes my skin.  Leaves, crisp, dry and turning brown, rustle a meditation.   Random thoughts follow the sound and ripple out on the breeze.  Cars whoosh, whispering by, far away on the road below.  A neighbour is building, hammering on her deck, getting ready for winter. 

A red squirrel climbs the wrought iron pole to the bird feeders, finds nothing appealing and falls off.  Or leaps to search for fallen rowan berries and the last of the grapes hidden beneath the vine's yellowing leaves.

Last night's rain and the sunlight wink and glisten on the leaves of the wisteria vine, the elm hedge and the sugar maple.  The light plays, creates patterns of shade.  Shadow copies of the leaves dance on the grass, deep greys on green.

Hosta leaves, touched with frost, droop now, brown tinged, wilting into the earth, turning themselves into compost for their winter's rest.  The air is cool, smells crisp and fresh, smells like fall.

The sunlight slants through the dark green, waxy leaves of the saucer magnolia, makes it look different; it becomes a glowing, unreal, lime colour.  The magnolia has had a good summer, has recovered from its breakage.  Tender care and the duct-taped splint are a success.

Autumn changes, touches everything.  Each shrub and tree, every vine and berry turns from one form of itself into another; transitions from one stage of its life cycle into another.

Me, too; I am changing, transitioning.  I await the next change in my life, this new transition into another form of myself.

I hope to pass through this cycle of health challenges, perhaps a little browned at the edges, perhaps dry and rattly for a time.  Like the magnolia, I hope to have a good season.  I anticipate my physical self will look different, maybe it will sometimes seem unreal.  But, I hope with tender care, I too will survive and become stronger.

May it be so.

Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.

Web of Life

Web of Life

In the midst

of a pure blue dream of a day,

you shiver

as you face the truth.

This moment freezes time.

Oh sure,

time doesn’t really stop,

can’t stop,

can’t wait

but you are frozen

caught like a fly

in a spider’s web,

focused

on the shining silver

all around you,

waiting,

dreading,

waiting to feel

the message

vibrate

across the web,

“You’re next.”

You try

not to shudder,

try to be still,

hope to hide,

just

a little while

longer,

from death.

Words and photo are ©copyright Carol Steel.

Live the Changes

Each day life changes.  The only constant is change.  No matter what the change, good or bad, the sun rises, the day passes, and the sun sets.   After night, the cycle begins again with the dawn.

The seasons change, each year the same rotation of natural change: invigorating spring, sweet summer, ripe autumn, snow-deep winter.  The seasons cycle again and again.  Changes.

Life is full of changes each day, each season, each year.  Change is the only constant.  And life itself is a cycle of changes; changes with an end.  The only sensible way to deal with life and change is to pack as much living as possible into each precious cycle—day, season and year.

Live each day, each hour.  Be present to each moment.  Waste not one second.  Waste no time and attention on what drains energy and spirit, on what tarnishes the shining you-ness of you.  Do what you can to live a life full of meaning and peace and joy.

Live all the changes. Live the days.  Live…

Words and photos are © copyright Carol Steel.

Pin Ball Machine

Pin Ball Machine

Life
has a strange way
of falling
through the sublime
into the wayward frenzy
of a ball rolling down
a rough channel.

Always
after robust attack,
it will settle.

Life.


This poem is a response to Wordle #67 from The Sunday Whirl, a poetry prompt suggesting the use of twelve words to write a poem:  frenzy, strange, ball, rough, falling, robust, settle, wayward, sublime, channel, attack, life.  You can learn more about The Sunday Whirl and read other responses at:
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/07/29/wordle-67/

What Can a Robin Hatch?

What Can a Robin Hatch?

A robin sits in the Rowan tree,

waits for snow to cease,

sings of spring warmth and resurrection.

Robin with breast the colour of blood,

morning’s first singer,

and evening’s last song,  final good night.

You’ll soon be a broody mama,

warm the pale blue eggs

a fortnight,  hatch a clutch of babies.

Next, you’ll be a broody mama,

to hatch death’s virus,

incubate disease and brain fever.

You beauty, and handmaid of illness,

breast the shade of blood,

the colour of mosquito belly,

because it kills you slowly, you live

longer, infection

spreads further.   You generous beauty,

bird of life and death.

NOTE:  Robins can be carriers of West Nile Virus.  The virus kills robins more slowly than blue jays or crows, so robins can spread the virus more widely.  The virus is transferred from robin to mosquito to human.  West Nile Virus can cause fatal inflammation of the brain (encephalitis) or the membranes that cover the brain or spinal cord (meningitis).  Milder reactions to West Nile Virus are not fatal but cause fever, headache, body aches, skin rash and swollen lymph glands.

It seems hard to believe that something as lovely as a robin sitting in a snowstorm has the potential to become a link in a chain of disease, doesn't it?

Tree Moss

Tree Moss

At night

under the mossy trees,

when the thin green felt

is held by darkness,

I see the silhouettes of lace.

My grandmother used to make,

Heirloom lace, Broomstick lace,

delicate and fine.

Slow work.

Morning comes.

The sea air kisses the trees

and wraps them in fog-wool

and damp desire.

And lace, pale green,

nourished by mist

blooms from tree crotch and branches.

Swaying,

slow nests of moss

(knit from whisper and shadow and dream)

begin as all life begins,

in the embrace

of dampness.

Photos and words are mine.

Peregrine Falcon

Peregrine Falcon

Where are the birds?

We feed ducks and pheasants each day.  Our yard provides shelter to robins, blue jays, grackles, chickadees and goldfinches when they choose to visit.  Crows nest in the woods behind our street, and in a cedar taller than the house, in the neighbour’s yard.

Where did the birds go?

Today the ducks have flown away and returned many times.  They did not land and stay to eat, kept bursting skyward.  The crows and blue jays were noisier than usual.  Raucous circling in the clear sky.  So clear, it was endless blue. The chubby robins were hesitant and brief in their trips to the seed cones of the Staghorn Sumac. The cats, who spend hours on indoor chairs watching birdie TV outside, meowed and moved from one viewing point to another.  They were up and down stairs racing from window to window, and up and down from their chairs all afternoon.

Agitation and noise.  Birds flew through and paused for a moment but did not settle and feed.

Mid-afternoon I discovered why.  As I sat writing at the kitchen table, I caught the movement of a shadow across the snow.  I looked up and saw a Peregrine Falcon drop through the branches of maple, turn and wheel between the sumac and the spruce, chase up through the hill that is our yard closing in on a starling.

I stared, my mouth agape.  I’ve never seen a Peregrine Falcon before.  It was blue-grey, heavy-breasted, with a 3.5 foot wing span, swinging through the yard with feet clenched, ready to strike.  The two birds flew up and over the garage and out of visual range.  It happened in a moment.

Though I know the starling likely ended becoming supper, it was a moment I won’t forget.  Raw and powerful.  The wheel of life and death, the cycle we all share. 

And the Peregrine Falcon, it was magnificent!

Our regular birds didn't share my opinion and showed wisdom by avoiding the yard today.

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