The Tree of Life & Other Matters

My name is Marilyn and I am a breast cancer survivor of 11-1/2 years.  I was diagnosed a Stage 2 in July 2000.   I had been married only two years, my first marriage, his second.  One of the lasting memories from that time is my husband sitting beside my bed or chair at each treatment, reading aloud from Harry Potter.  His dramatic reading filled my cubicle with the voices of Harry, Hermione, Ron and especially Dobby, with whom he channeled a particularly good supplicating tone.

Other realities at that time were mostly sensate - fear, isolation (I'm a recluse at heart, which meant I had to force myself to connect with people more than I usually do), occasional nausea (very little, thanks to pharmacological tweaking), and loss in several forms.  There was also - in the sensate realm - an effortless conviction that there is love in the world, not perfect or pervasive, but working actively, regardless of my efforts.  There was a sublimity about life.  I would sit on the front step of our cottage, and literally watch the roses grow and the dead leaves from the sycamore turn to humus.  I was in the present, knowing that that was all I had, quite profoundly, that is what any of us has - this moment.  There are no guarantees of anything except that.

In six weeks I stop popping that little white pill each morning, femara, the last of my anti-cancer drug prescriptions.  The side effects have blurred into daily living so much that I am barely aware of them.  There is some trepidation about not having that magic pill to scare aware the cancer demon from my threshold.  Still, I look forward to a prescription-free life.

A word on three movies:

The Artist is a miniature gem of filmcraft.

The Tree of Life - it took courage to produce this film; it is poetry as much as storytelling.  Set aside the strictures of form and definition and you will be enthralled.  Order it from Netflix and you can set it aside for an intermission, when you feel too saturated to take it all in at once.  A Terrence Malick film.

And here is one that came out in 2008 and was India's official entry for Oscar contention, but was not nominated - sadly.  Like Stars On Earth is gripping and entertaining.  It does what good storytelling does - digs deep into our minds when we're not looking and pulls us out of those dark corners into light, warmth, love.  This is one of my all time, most loved movies.  Directed by Aamir Khan, who also plays an important role in the film, and written by Amole Gupte.

Prelude to Thanksgiving

My husband and I visited my mother in her new home last weekend.  She is 81 now, and had been unsteady on her feet enough that she decided a year ago, perhaps earlier, that she needed to live with family.  She made the move in September from her own home and well-established life in another state, to a cottage on the property of my brother's home on the California coast.
Now, I can visualize where she sits to eat meals, where Buddy, her teddy bear dog, settles on the porch, what it's like for her to use her cane stepping onto the driveway.  She has four fabulous grandchildren, ages 8, 14, 16, and 18, stopping by each day, giving her hugs, delivering her mail.  Her voice on the phone has a lift, she sounds rested since she's now retired as well, and is exploring the vicinity, having screwed up her courage to drive along now familiar routes.  She's also found a church home.  (Son and family belong to a different denomination.)
May we all age so well and courageously!

Progress Report

It's amazing!  If you speak out loud what you hope for, the universe will respond.

I was speaking with a woman who works at the local independent bookstore about how-do-writers-connect-in-this-town and she invited me to join her and two other women in a writers group that they started some time ago.  But, it had been dormant a while, she said.  We met last night in a downtown coffeeshop.  She provided the prompts to get us started on short free-writing, and voila - magic!  We were writing great stuff!  THANK YOU!  This is so exciting.

Graphite Scribbles

I started scribbling nonsense words with pencil on yellow carbon paper my Mom gave us kids in long and short connected strokes before I'd graduated from block letters, just because I couldn't wait for the freehand of script.  

A well turned sentence is such a beautiful thing.  What are the beautiful things in my life?  Hiking a coastal trail in Pacific fog, listening to the Faure Requiem in a silent, packed church.   I've taken writing classes occasionally and hope to publish something really good someday - doesn't have to be great, just good.  So, here goes!