Show Me Some Skin

By and large, I've had a boringly healthy life. My mother was a strong and healthy woman through her 70s. Gratefully, I am a chip off the old block. No heart/joint/diabetes/blood pressure issues like many of my friends. Doctors still comment on me being nearly sixty and on no regular medications.

So when I was diagnosed with Melanoma in 2006, I was shocked.  Shocked by the shell cracking open, but also by the speed at which I justified it. I have fair skin, this damage was likely from all that time on the Santa Cruz beach when I was a teen, or maybe the years under the Arizona sun in my 30s.  It was removed the day it was diagnosed and no follow up radiation or chemo was necessary. I was assigned for quarterly visits for a couple of years. In other words, a pass.

I'm a cancer survivor who doesn't feel like I earned the spot. I didn't have to suffer through treatment. The lesson I failed to learn is the only reason it went down that way was because it was caught early.

Fast forward to 2014, and again a suspicious spot that looked similar to the one that had been on my arm. It looked like a cluster of freckles: no raised areas, no red edges, no center dot. It was biopsied and sure enough, it was a melanoma - and quickly removed. I am now a high risk which means, for now, quarterly visits for life. Another pass.

When I got home, and the Hubs and I were talking things over, he showed me a spot on his forearm and went in for a biopsy and it, too, was a melanoma. He has Italian Mediterranean good tanning skin, and never worried much about time in the sun.  Skin cancer affects all skin types.

There are a lot of types of skin cancer but Melanoma is the most deadly.  An advanced melanoma can move quickly from the surface to the lymph nodes and invade internal organs such as the liver and kidneys. It is as deadly as other forms of cancer if not caught early.  My Doc's rule of thumb is to have any changes in your skin checked out.  Melanoma won't always look like the photos online. 

For me, the gift of Melanoma is its visibility. It lets me actively participate in my health by monthly self-checks, the way I do breast checks.  We get the choice to intervene before it becomes life threatening. As for all those sun worshipper times as kids? Let's make sure our children and grandchildren understand the advantages of sunscreens and cover-ups for a long and healthy life. As it turns out, wrinkles aren't the biggest worry that's out there.

Buying Admission

One of the best parts of getting older is to be in the position of lending a hand now and again. It is an equal blessing. Luck and circumstance have a lot to do with being able to say and do this, and it is a good reminder how extraordinary it is to be part of an all-in family. 

Being in a position to help the kids from time to time is one of my greatest joys. Everyone needs a hand, and growing up I certainly did.  But my lessons about borrowing money involved people who had an agenda to the gift, and the fine print that bought them extra privileges in my life.

Some loaners use money to buy admission. It usually happened with a bigger loan for a down on a car or money to finish school. All of a sudden they have opinions about your life and expect to see you whenever they want. They feel they have paid to have a more impactful role in your life. By the time you realize there were terms to the loan, it's too late.  

Things come up like, "Oh I understand, I set aside the whole day for you but that's okay, you go ahead and spend it at your cousin's house. How's the car running with the new engine?"  Or, "You don't seem very grateful for all the things I've done for you. I'm not asking much for the family to spend Christmas day with me again this year."

Anyone borrowing for debt consolidation forever are advised and judged on the things they buy and their lifestyle choices.

Ours is more of a co-op style with helper loans. The kids have to match funds and have some skin in the game.  They are asked to repay when they can. So essentially we are partnering with our adult children to empower fiscal responsibility. There are so many good lessons for a family who focuses on gratefulness. Win. Win.

Physician, Heal Thyself

I've read that when a person feels in crisis, it's because they have not yet adapted to what is happening.

Not always. I wonder where the lesson could possibly be with our news media which knows the impact of spewing negative trash on internet news and television, and does it anyway.

We are barraged by examples of brutality with a never-ending supply ~ adults against animals/children, children against other children, animals against other animals, adults against other adults, parents against children, children against parents, coaches against athletes, students against teachers. OKAY. WE KNOW.

Our News Media has cultivated an entire culture of addicts, intentionally, like cigarette company does. They expose us a thousand times a month to news that makes us fearful and distrustful, and they say, tune in so you will not be next. And so we do so, eagerly, turn on the news or log on our computers to learn the horrible things that are happening right outside our doors or across the world. We openly pray for them and secretly feel grateful it's not us.  It doesn't really matter to the new terror-driven Media, just so we lock our doors, put the dog in our laps and tune in. They have gained market share and made their millions off us: why worry if we are left feeling helpless and afraid?

Local interest stories are ridiculous anecdote to the young girl who torched her family's home because a fictional internet character told her to do it. Media has won the day even for those like me who turn it on only for weather and traffic, and turn the sound down and look away for the rest. I look around at a country of manicured lawns where children can't safely play and wonder where the hell America has gone.

I have heard it said imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and I guess so, when all the networks provide 24 hour coverage for seven days in a row for a child who turns the gun on his school and goes out in a blaze of glory. Take the ratings, boys: the next school shooting has been brought to you by Network XYZ.

I am so grateful to have grown up when our country knew better, when journalists and stories were about strengthening American values and exemplifying integrity and service. There absolutely were difficult stories to cover, and yes they covered them. But it was balanced news, not sensational, not shock jock news - and the kind of news we needed to know.  I most remember is Walter Cronkite weeping when the President was shot (don't ask which President), and when we landed on the Moon. It was a genuine and impactful response because Walter Cronkite had integrity and patriotism and honesty, and the news he presented reflected those esteemed values as a citizen first and newscaster second.

It was not in the best interests of the country to feel the world has become bitter and cold, and we are victims in wait unless we keep tuned to the news that will inform and protect us. They are making themselves our drug of choice.

I say no to all of it, the arming and looking around as I step outside my door expecting evil to be there. It is worrisome that our country does not push to the top of its agenda the good and the decency and kindness most of us encounter every day, for that to be the daily diet.  What of our children, I wonder, who grow up with nothing but grim news, who do not know there are many ways to look at the same issue? Who never listened to a news broadcast by Peter Jennings?

If they just looked back at their own history they would see an excellent blueprint of integrity and social conscience to inform and enlighten, and I'll bet still capture market share. Just say no to drugs.

Powell's of Portland

Imagine a place that draws scores of people inside to linger on a sunny, bright holiday weekend in Portland. People sipping on a coffee with a book open in their laps, and wandering around in packs discussing political science and international travel.

The building has interconnected rooms of eclectic and well marked categories, and used book sets for sale, but mostly the books are new.  The rooms are color coded and themed, I'm sure to guide you towards the exit, although that was a bit too subtle for me.

On the walls are huge chalkboards listing local authors and their books and locations in the store, a list of Pulitzer Prize winners, and earthy, cerebral staff to help as directional guides and problem solvers. There are Powell's t-shirts for sale, mugs, backpacks and postcards.

On the shelves were staff recommended bookmarks, like a fancy wine store that offers helpful tips on picking a good vintage. 'This is a complex and fulfilling mystery, well written, and a thoroughly satisfying read.'  Pair it with a weekend at the beach, brie and water crackers.

This IKEA-esque store has rooms within rooms, some up 1/2 a flight or down a flight that you move through vaguely aware you have transitioned. There are main paths and shortcuts, but what we ended up doing is enjoy being carried along by the crowd that enjoyed being here as much as we did.

It was a joy to be in the children's section and watching them talking and tucked into corners with books spread out in front of them, covers open, and taking in the texture, scent and feel of them. I'm not a fan of ebooks. The adults were the ones with their iPhones out, trying to corral their group into an arranged rendezvous point. 'How about the coffee bar in 10?' 

I thought of my father and hoped for his books. I was told that two of his titles have resided here previously but they were currently out of stock. I was informed the Transportation section is in Building Two.  Building. Two.


At one point we spied a bathroom, and the conversation resembled a vacation abroad:  Hey! There's a bathroom. Want to go?  Maybe we'd better, just in case. Who knows when we'll have another chance.

There are benches along some aisles and circling the support beams and in corners where two bookcases meet. Everything is wood and everything was occupied, so I went on a brief quest to find a seat and ended up utterly lost in the Russian Language section. 

There's a gallery upstairs we didn't see, but there was a glorious pillar at the entrance of a stack of books with some of the world's most influential titles. The Mahabharata, Hamlet, War & Peace, Psalms, The Odyssey, The Whale (Moby Dick), Tao te Ching, and 1000 Nights.

Welcome to Powell's Books of Portland. Can't wait to return.

http://www.powells.com/citytour.html

Robin William's Last Gift (Peter Coyote)

Robin Williams died this week at the age of 63. 

 

He was the supernova of comedians, and a brilliant actor and humanitarian. He seemed to do life very well, a home in Tiburon, friends on every continent, and compassionate enough that when an acquaintance's daughter who didn't have a parent available to go to Career Day asked if he could come, he showed. He had a wife. A family. Specials on HBO. Stellar and memorable roles in some of my favorite movies. He changed the face of America in many ways.

 

He died of his own choosing, at his own time. Looking in from the outside, it is hard to believe that the things we strive for as Regular People -- money, acceptance, comfort, purpose, and a lasting legacy -- weren't enough.

 

Well, maybe enough of the outward trappings of success and not enough of the things many of us take in stride: being comfortable in our own skin, moving through life with a sense of peace and contentment, knowing God, and that no matter what, we are part of a divine plan and never utterly alone.

 

I turn from the overabundance of articles and news programs about the gruesome details of his death because it is None Of My Business. Knowing them won't make him any more or less dead.  I want to process his life so I can understand what happens inside a successful and talented, humanistic man to bring him to an unimaginable moment where the only option left is death. I want to learn the lesson he was trying to teach.

 

Peter Coyote, also an actor and a good friend of Robin, wrote this essay which I saw this morning. It lit up the sky for me, and I hope for you, too. RIP, Robin.

 

-Nanci

 

Robin William’s Last Gift

Robin and I were friends. Not intimate, because he was very shy when he was not performing. Still, I spent many birthdays and holidays... at his home with Marsha and the children, and he showed up at my 70th birthday to say “Hello” and wound up mesmerizing my relatives with a fifteen minute set that pulverized the audience.

When I heard that he had died, I put my own sorrow aside for a later time. I’m a Zen Buddhist priest and my vows instruct me to try to help others. So this little letter is meant in that spirit.

Normally when you are gifted with a huge talent of some kind, it’s like having a magnificent bicep. People will say, “Wow, that’s fantastic” and they tell you, truthfully, that it can change your life, take you to unimaginable realms. It can and often does.

 

The Zen perspective is a little different. We might say, “Well, that’s a great bicep, you don’t have to do anything to it. Let’s work at bringing the rest of your body up to that level.”

Robin’s gift could be likened to fastest thoroughbred race-horse on earth. It had unbeatable endurance, nimbleness, and a huge heart. However, it had never been fully trained. Sometimes Robin would ride it like a kayaker tearing down white-water, skimming on the edge of control. We would marvel at his courage, his daring, and his brilliance. But at other times, the horse went where he wanted, and Robin could only hang on for dear life.

In the final analysis, what failed Robin was his greatest gift---his imagination. Clutching the horse he could no longer think of a single thing to do to change his life or make himself feel better, and he stepped off the edge of the saddle. Had the horse been trained, it might have reminded him that there is always something we can do. We can take a walk until the feeling passes. We can find someone else suffering and help them, taking the attention off our own.

 

Or, finally, we can learn to muster our courage and simply sit still with what we are thinking are insoluble problems, becoming as intimate with them as we can, facing them until we get over our fear. They may even be insoluble, but that does not mean that there is nothing we can do.

Our great-hearted friend will be back as the rain, as the cry of a Raven as the wind. He, you and I have never for one moment not been a part of all it.

 

But we would be doing his life and memory a dis-service if we did not extract some wisdom from his choice, which, if we ponder deeply enough, will turn out to be his last gift. He would beg us to pay attention if he could.

 

Fig Waits for No Man

It has been busy enough not to be able to blog, and that makes me unhappy.  Work has some new assignments and training, and I come home mentally exhausted and ready to rest. 

Fat chance.

When you're raising food you work on its timeline. The 2nd harvest, 1st pick of figs happened a couple of weeks ago and from them we made jam. Last weekend twelve more quarts of figs were picked, which became whole fig preserves along with fresh munchies and a bunch brought to work.  And by the looks of an inspection last night, the last of the figs should be ready today. 

Garden Chili Verde sauce

So in spite of intentions, I was canning and preserving continually after work, fell into bed, and was up and at it again the next day.

We have enjoyed a bumper tomato crop - and yes, Heirloom makes a difference in the taste and quality of the fruit - and also the garden has done well with salsa peppers, green peppers, Japanese eggplant and Armenian cucumbers.

We've put up quite a few quarts of Gardineira and dilly beans, plus a jalapeno/wax/green/salsa/garlic medley that looks interesting. It was another disappointing yield with zucchini, and I'm inclined to skip it altogether.  Our tomatillos are fruiting but they are small - we will trellis them next year and see how they do. They made a really good chili verde sauce base, along with some of the green tomatoes and salsa peppers - and we like knowing it has no preservatives.

Garden vinaigrette salad

 The full sun artichoke cannot tolerate full sun. It leaves me wondering why local nurseries sell it with those tag recommendations when they know better.  Seymour is too big to transplant, so I took cuttings and planted his offspring under the shade of the olive trees, where they seem to be doing well. He'll be coming out in the fall.

That little spindly leggy Pomegranate out back turned out to have the only beautiful pomegranate of the season: the other big tree produced a lot of small and dry fruit that opened months early and spilled out for the birds. Nothing gets wasted but we were disappointed.

Pickled raw veggies

We received a 13 gallon kitchen garbage bag of fresh basil and made pesto to share - how easy and delicious to whip that up with a Cuisinart, fresh garlic, olive oil, s&p, fresh parmesan and pine nuts. We traded it for a couple of pickled veggies and a bowl of tomatoes.

I am looking into a good salsa recipe now that we are quickly exhausting the tomato options with spaghetti sauce, freezing them whole, eating them in Caprese salads, and in vinaigrette salads. 

Garden Pesto

I mean, there comes a point ... hey, maybe a bbq sauce ...

These days, I am still tired, but canning seems to relieve some of the day's stress. Now if someone would just clean up my mess!

Retirement Sim

My brother retired yesterday.

I can't imagine that. It's not a cliché when the previous generations cautioned us to take our time and enjoy the ride, because you arrive at retirement age in an instant.

The hubs and I both are committed to work, at least until we figure out the medical insurance thing. That provides plenty of incentive to keep our feet in the stirrups. I am noticing a little bit of panic beginning to form around the edges as we approach the concept of retiring, not knowing if our choices will sustain us safely and comfortably in old age.

The financial planners hawking a million dollars in the bank drive me insane. Who ARE those people? So we got to thinking, how do we really know what retirement transitions will be? How much will be enough for a middle class hard working couple without much of a pension coming in? Short of a debilitating disease that wipes us out in the first year, how have we done with our retirement planning?

That is what hatched the idea for a little pre-retirement-readiness simulation for the next couple of months. The goal is pretty simple: by living on the budget you think will be there, what will you learn about money handling and lifestyle choices and learning a different way to live? 

To prepare, we are exploring our budget in depth. We are categorizing expenses into hard and soft - rigid expenses like mortgage, insurance, trash pick up, life insurance - things you can't alter month to month; and pliable ones like food, gas, electric and water use, shopping, gifts, entertainment - that are adaptable.  We are looking and charting our expenses and what percentage it uses of earned income.

For the next two months we will live on a budget based on earnings through Social Security and my little school retirement. We'll calculate earnings based on retirement at 66 because no way can we deal with the medical piece without Medicare.  Other income we receive will be stowed in savings.

I know that in *real life* there is the underlying confidence of having the WorkerBee there's-more-where-that-came-from mindset. The simulation won't create the anxiety of loss of earning potential that I imagine is part of retirement. But I hope it will show where we are with what we've set up for ourselves.

Insight goals.
--about modifying what we're doing to achieve an even greater quality of life
--about our current money habits of pulling from savings and how quickly we'll deplete the nest egg without adapting
--about the gaps we find and whether we can rush to fill them before we retire

Simulation dates will be September 1-November 1, 2014.  We will keep you posted.

Yes and No: Powerful Words

JULY 15, 2014 The Most Nonfrantic Woman I've Ever Met LYSA TERKEURST "A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold." Proverbs 22:1 (NIV) She was knocking at my front door trying to balance her paper coffee cup, her purse, her cell phone and a stack of papers. She was also trying to fix something on her shoe. She hopped a step or two when I answered the door. I smiled. Her imperfect posture delighted my mind that had been feeling a little off-kilter all morning. She smiled back and hopped one more time. Finally whatever was bugging her with her shoe seemed fixed. She stood up and smiled with an apologetic smile that made me adore her before we'd ever had our first conversation. And with her first step over the threshold, it was as if the shoe issue never happened. She was noticeably focused on the project ahead of her. She spent all day with my family and me. She was a reporter doing a story on our sons adopted from Africa. Even though she never alluded to another title she had, we knew. She was the daughter of a former president of the United States. As in ... she and her sister called the White House their home at one time. Her mom had been the first lady, which made her part of the first family. But being the daughter of a president wasn't her role that day. She was a reporter. She was at our house to do a story. She stayed present in that role alone. Her questions were honest and unassuming. Her demeanor kind. Her laugh delightfully loud. Her paperwork messy. But her focus was clear. She was there to uncover a story. So she stayed focused on the task at hand. She wasn't encumbered with a thousand other things pulling at her. She didn't try to multitask too much. She wasn't distracted by her cell phone. She wasn't running late or from one thing to the next. She said no to everything else pulling at her. So she could say yes to the story. She gave it her Best Yes. This woman who demonstrated a Best Yes that day left a lasting impression on my family for sure. Later at dinner my husband, Art, asked the kids to go around the table and say one word to describe the reporter. "Nice." "Humble." "Classy." "Elegant." "Humble." Then there may or may not have been a less than delightful exchange from an older sibling to the youngest child, "You can't say humble. I just said humble. You always want to copy what I have to say!" I love family bonding. But ... I really did love the collective experience of meeting this nonfrantic woman. And the words my kids used to describe her. Art went on to ask the kids to explain what she did and how she carried herself that led us to use such great words to describe her. Then he turned the conversation on each of us. "If you want people to use such great words to describe you, think about the decisions you are making. How are they leading people to describe you?" This question made me think of our key verse, Proverbs 22:1, which says, "A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold." We often encourage our kids with this truth when reminding them of the weight their decisions carry. Yes, great descriptions are birthed from great decisions. And there it was. A small beginning of a big thing to ponder. A clue that better decisions help make better lives for the souls of women caught in craziness. Snagged. Worn out. Worn down. Ragged. The decisions we make make the life we live. So if we want to live better, we've got to decide better. Yes. No. The two most powerful words in the English language. They can run us if we don't intentionally run them. Guard them. Guide them. Use yes and no to work for us. Can you imagine how great life would be if you didn't dread saying yes and felt completely empowered to say no? Then and only then will our best selves emerge. And maybe you and I can start to be a little less frantic.

Be The Ball

There's something new on Facebook and I am a total fan. Little quizzes.

How long will you live?
What President are you?
What Country should you live in?
What Heroine are you in a classic novel?

They're seemingly mindless ways to pass the time and I've done a lot of them. I don't play other types of games, but I'm hooked on these little two minute quizzes.

Maybe I did secretly hope to get JFK when I took the Which President Are You quiz, but by telling them my favorite color and political affiliation, I came away feeling pretty good being matched up with Lincoln. I mean, Lincoln is my ultimate hero.

What did I just say? People happily answer all sorts of personal questions without batting an eye, things we would guard from sharing on the net otherwise. How we spend our time, and our money, and with whom: we share all of the details through a game that harvests and records the people we are. Marketing brilliance, if you ask me.

They ask questions like ... Are you the kind of person who ... gets what they want at all costs; stands back and lets things play out before making your move; not interested in the drama and ok with however it turns out.

Or ... On a quiet evening would you rather ... be out on the town with friends; at home with a good book; be part of a girls weekend shopping trip in Tahoe. 

I feel a little self image manipulation coming on!  If your animal spirit is an Owl, you are wise and thoughtful; a Hawk is a purposeful and patient leader; an Eagle is majestic and intelligent.  Everyone has amazing qualities, and this little game reminds us just how special we are. Now go! it says: out into the world and Be The Ball.

You'll never get the, oops, loser, you put nothing into life and you get nothing back. There is a participation trophy for those who play -- and never a worry about getting matched up with Herbert Hoover.

I like being told I'll live to be 100 and am considerate, courageous and kind.  But I don't wonder how a little computer game  can 'know' so much about me.  I've posted I am from Illinois and my political postings are all Democrat. I have shared where I live, what I love, how many children I have, how many years I've been married, where I work, and pictures of our yard.  Lincoln is a no brainer.

There's not much mystery about a buddy at work getting a boy and a girl on the How Many Children Is Right For You quiz, because that's what she's got. When I clicked on the link it went right to 3 sons - I didn't even have to take the quiz! Everybody knows I have 3 kids, and now also a computer in Palo Alto.

Smile for the camera.

DC FazMcBush

Today I am full of wonder as I remember my second son's birth and the joy he has brought every day since. His middle name is Charles in honor of my dad and brother, but also from that night in labor when I danced the Charleston with a good friend and coach to speed things along. 

I should have known this kid would be amazing, when a crazy-haired doc showed up in the middle of the night in a Berkeley sweatshirt with sawed off sleeves and announced, Let's get this show on the road.  Not long after, I met my son for the very first time.

There are so many captured moments that run through my head each birthday. If truth be told, there wasn't much to do other than the usual keep him clean and out of trouble stuff. He seemed to be born with a complete set of instructions on how the world works and the navigational tools to get around.

As a small child he completely mastered the concept of money. I taught him the basics, but he wanted to spend some and have some for later. By six, he was in charge of our travel expenses and meals on a trip across country. He had a little ledger and we'd talk about the budget and he'd offer sage advice, like, well we spent a lot on gas and food: can we just sleep in the car?  {No, no honey, let me tell you about Credit ... }

He taught me about the courage necessary to live with a generous heart. He is an interesting, inquisitive, smart, daring person. Like McGyver, he figures it out with just a toothpick and a pocket knife. He imagines and tries, zip lines through the trees, persistently grabs for what he wants, parasails, loves, works around obstacles, and is the first to put out a hand to help another up. 

I used to wonder as I lay quietly feeling him kick my ribs: What will he look like? Who will he be? I couldn't imagine how great it would be.  Happy Birthday, son. Love, Mom

Okay By Me

Can I be blunt? I think it's patently unfair for life to be going along well and all of a sudden loop back to the same old crap you just left behind.  

I've been enjoying a Renaissance period these past 4 years. Gossip and opinion have kind of fallen off the radar. Maybe it's my age and experience that can take the pinch in stride because I have finally, finally learned that In Life, you don't win everyone over, and you don't have to try.

It's a good solid place to be most of the time, focusing on things that are important like living honestly and compassionately. I have an amazing amount of love in my life and a man that fills my heart with gratefulness every single day. I don't ask anyone to walk the walk for me, or approve or disapprove of my choices, although it is apparent people still think it's important to weigh in. Whatever.

It was a What's Up kind of week. I just came out and asked a couple of people how things were going.

I am drawn to moments when relationships find a depth beyond the Facebook Time and we actually communicate.  You've been quiet: is everything alright? Usually it's a happy conversation -- oh man! I've been so busy, but let's set up a time to get together next month! Really miss you!

And sometimes it's not a happy conversation at all.  Like when you don't get a straight answer and you get nowhere. Or when a whole lot of crap tumbles out from left field. 

I come away wondering what the hell is wrong with me:  Did I not see that brick wall? And did I not still ram into it? There's an impossibly awkward response needed:  so you do you say, gee, thanks for letting me know ... when you really aren't thankful at all?

Back in the day I'd have owned it, both sides of the relationship and even the vague and remote criticisms from people not directly in my circle.  In my heart, I believed them, even if it was undeserved. I wasn't worthy. I needed to change.

I'm happy to report those days are gone. I love myself, and so it's easy to put criticism where it needs to be: their issue, not mine. I don't have to do anything, own it or even be responsible for it. If they want to, go right ahead and haul around all that weighted opinion: I'm traveling light.

At the end of the day I'm still heading west. Will I still ask what's up if friends and family get especially quiet? I will. It's always nice to know who your traveling companions will be, and who will be a no-show.