From a Local Bakery
Bear Claws! We ordered these ahead and picked them up this morning. They’re cherry with almonds and delicious. If it looks like one is already cut in half and eaten, you’re right. I didn’t get in with the camera quickly enough; Chuck had already grabbed one.
On another topic, we have our Christmas tree! The tree farmers named their trees this year. Ours is Grayson. 🙂
My phone’s recent calls list Cancer Center, the Cancer Coordinator, the Surgeon’s Office, my primary care doc, and even the Genetics Department. It’s been quite a roller coaster ride.
Two weeks ago, I had my annual mammogram. I get one annually rather than every two years because of my family history. This mammogram showed a new growth on the right.
One week ago, I had a biopsy of the right breast.
By the list of calls, you can infer that the biopsy showed the new growth is, indeed, cancerous. Invasive ductile carcinoma, to be specific. Go ahead and do an Internet search on it. I’m not planning on it. That’s a bit too much at this point in the game.
Timing is either great or awful – not that I had a choice in the matter. December is a big month for the barbershop chorus. They have three shows: the Barbershop Bistro dinner, the main Christmas show, and a show at a local senior living home. I have no idea how my surgeries and appointments will interfere with getting Amigo to his shows and seeing the shows myself. That’s the bad side.
On the good side, it’s not prime canning and preserving season. I have a pantry and freezer full of foodstuffs for the family. If money gets tight during treatment, grocery shopping won’t be too much worse than usual.
Also on the positive side, I’m one of Those People: I shop early for holiday gifts. With a number of birthdays in November, December, and January, I plan ahead. I could stop shopping right now and everyone would have gifts. Nothing is wrapped, but I can cope with that. I don’t buy wrapping paper; haven’t in years, but that’s another post altogether.
At this point, I’m impatient and nervous. I meet with the surgeon on Monday to make a plan for treatment. Readers, I’ll keep you up to date as to what’s happening and how I’m feeling about it. Cancer, basically, sucks.
My Packers didn’t play well last weekend. They just weren’t quite on the ball (no pun intended). And here they go, coming up on a Monday Night Game against the defending Super Bowl champions. Oh, my.
I’m sure Coach LeFleur is preparing the team as he does best. The receiving corps will work on filling the hole left by Tucker Kraft’s injury (sob), and Jordan Love will be perfecting his pass precision.
The ordinary fans at my house ate the opponent with a classic: Philly cheese steak on a sub bun. Here’s a look at it:
Yum!
We stopped at the deli to pick up thin sliced beef and cheese. The white cheddar was out, so we chose provolone. It worked. Onions and green peppers we already had in our pantry, and the neighborhood sub shop sells their day old bread for next to nothing. Pile them all together (well, it’s not quite that simple, but almost) and Chuck presented the family with his version of a Philly cheese steak sandwich. And yes, it was delicious.
He served it with a side dish of roasted potatoes from the air fryer and my homemade applesauce with peach added. A great combination! We’re ready for Monday night. Are the Packers ready? We can only hope.
Chuck made Bog Rice with chicken and sausage for Eating the Opponent: Carolina Panthers. It’s a recipe we found that fits the region and incorporates ingredients we already have in the house. Oh, and it’s delicious, too. Go! Pack! Go!
I had a brief moment of panic thinking we’d have to devour all the Halloween candy ourselves. The front porch light and the doorbell both gave out tonight within minutes of each other. Is the front porch haunted? Well, Chuck found a suitable battery for the doorbell – not the exact size needed, but close enough that it worked. He replaced the light bulb on the porch and then announced that we were out, completely out, of light bulbs now. I sense a trip to Home Depot or Ace Hardware coming up soon.
On a more positive note, all three of us received our Covid19 boosters today at the pharmacy. The pharmacist was quick and she was good. We hardly felt a thing. We’re all up to date with flu and Covid vaccines. (Take that, conspiracy theorists. We’re vaccinated.)
So there you have it, folks. Bog Rice, Halloween candy, a new light bulb and doorbell battery. That’s all the news from the O.K. Chorale.
Ah, guerrilla gardening. Not gorilla, the animal, but planting and growing in a surprising and sneaky manner. Guerrilla gardening takes a name from guerrilla warfare, also surprising and sneaky.
I was pulling out weeds, mostly burdock, when I yanked on one that wouldn’t come out from the ground next to a walkway board.
It’s not burdock.
Burdock? Nope. Kale? Nope. Either way, I did not plant anything here. The board is old and rotting, so if I’d dropped a random seed in it, something may have come up. But this? This is more than an accidentally dropped seed.
Surprise! It’s turnips.
I definitely didn’t plant turnips here. I blame the squirrels or chipmunks, those tricky little furballs. Some tiny critter moved seeds or ate seeds and pooped them into this cozy little spot. And they grew. Grew and grew and grew.
I enlisted Chuck’s help with a crowbar and harvested the surprising batch of turnips. They became part of a stew later on.
Despite the weeds taking over most of the garden (courtesy of our late June early July vacation), we didn’t get to harvest much this season. But turnips? Turnips are tough. I pulled up quite a few, including the random guerrilla-planted turnips under the board.
Sometimes, and this is one of those times, the world seems impossible. Scary. Up to No Good. Frightening. Hopeless, even.
I feel less hopeless (yeah, I know, that’s a double negative) if I can take action. Individual actions, no matter how small, add up to a larger total. That drop in a bucket? Add enough drops and the bucket will fill.
I signed up for our local No Kings demonstration on October 18. I have a plan. Chuck will drop me off, or I’ll park in a downtown parking structure. I don’t mind paying for parking; it’s a contribution to our vibrant downtown.
I’ll wear one of my activist tee shirts, weather permitting. I’m leaning toward “Stars and Stripes and Reproductive Rights.” If the weather is cooler, my “Teach Peace” hoodie will be appropriate. If it snows (I know, I know, it’s October, but Wisconsin…) I will put my new jacket from Denali National Park to good use. It’s Denali, you idiot, not McKinley.
There’s a sign-making workshop ahead of the demonstration. I may or may not go. My attire will make a statement.
Meanwhile, I keep focusing on basics like canning and preserving goodies from the farm stands, and preparing the garden for next season while picking the last of the cherry tomatoes and jalapeno peppers.
Readers, how do you stay sane in an insane world?
We have a local chapter of the Buy Nothing Project, and I love it. I’ve given things away, and I’ve gotten some awesome items as well. Here’s one of my favorites. Someone posted the cooler, explained that they could no longer use it, and I shared the picture with Chuck. “Wouldn’t this make a great planter? Maybe herbs on the deck, right outside the kitchen door?”
Long story short, we expressed interest, the donor said yes, and we picked it up on our way home from Fun Day Friday lunch. The donor apologized for not cleaning it out, and when I explained how we planned to use it, she was relieved.
The fun piece of trivia: the donor is a tennis coach at the small college downtown, my alma mater.
Cooler turned Herb Garden
I was an elementary teacher. I had a prep time first thing in the morning. While my students were gone (in the gym? In music? I don’t remember), my good friend the reading specialist ran into my room to tell me we’d been attacked.
We were not allowed to discuss the attack or even tell our students until the end of the day. Two of my sixth graders went home for lunch, so they knew and we talked, quietly, when they came back.
Teachers were called to the lounge for an emergency meeting during the first recess of the day. We’d pulled a television on a cart (yeah, the old days!) into the lounge so we could watch news updates. There weren’t many updates.
My own children, in high school and elementary school at the time, came home on their buses and ran in the house yelling exactly the same thing: “Mom! Did you hear what happened?!”
I thought for a moment that I should fill my minivan with gas before the stations ran out or the prices skyrocketed. Much of the city had the same idea, and the lines were incredibly long. I decided I’d rather spend this time with my children. I had half of a tank, and that would have to be enough.
Chuck worked for a television station. We had no idea when he’d get home. Neither did he.
Today, 23 years later, I’m still learning more about the day. The potential threats, the people who were with the president at the time, the situation on Air Force One. I’m sure there’s more to learn.
We can’t ever forget the day the Towers fell. The day the Pentagon was hit. The day Flight 93 was driven into the ground by courageous passengers.
I opened up my dashboard to find that all of my recent posts have to do with my right foot and its healing status. Well, folks, I have some reasonably good news to share this time.
The joint fusion was successful! I can start wearing shoes again. I plan to ease into it by wearing shoes in the morning and the surgical shoe (not the Big Ugly Boot) in the afternoon. There is still swelling, so I’ll adjust to that by taking the transition slowly.
The second toe still has issued, but they’re fixable (#ToeTwoTendonTrouble). The tendon is pulling the toe under the Big Toe, so doc wants to loosen the tendon. It’s an in-office procedure, no major surgery this time, and I can wear shoe until that day. I’ll be in the surgical shoe or sandals for a little while after that.
With all of the above in mind, I wore a shoe on my right foot all morning. I’m currently in my surgical shoe, sitting on the couch, letting the Milwaukee Brewers entertain me. Go Brew Crew!!
Wish me luck and good vibes, folks. I hope to have more interesting posts in the future as my mobility improves.
Pacing – not pacing in my study, like Dumbledore does (a lot, if the Weasley twins are to be believed) – but pacing myself. Healing. Letting myself go slowly. It’s harder than it sounds, folks.
Surgery #1 was healing well until I tripped, stumbled, bumped, stubbed the partially healed toes. That led to surgery #2.
Surgery #2 was a mixed bag. The bone healed well, but the soft tissue supporting the bone did not heal. Frankly, it was a mess. That mess led to surgery #3.
Surgery #3 was more intense. Healing involved no weight on the toes for at least two weeks, which meant using a scooter. That was tough, folks. We moved the scatter rugs out of the kitchen and bought a cup holder for the handlebars. That way, I could still get my coffee without putting pressure on Chuck, and I could get around the house without stumbling or knocking over my scooter.
Doctor Footloose warned me that many people who have similar surgeries to #3 wear the surgical boot for 8 to 12 weeks – minimum. She knows I detest the boot, but I will wear it as long as needed. Growl. Whine. Blankety blank boot.
Boot on one foot plus shoe on the other means I’m uneven, not level. Too much time at this kind of position leads to backaches. I’m healing from one of those now. PT style exercises on the floor (oh, yeah, getting down on the floor while wearing a big boot is a big bother); ice and heat alternating, and whatever pain medicine seems appropriate. This equation leads to feeling better – slowly. Very slowly.
That slow speed is why pacing is so important. Last night I made and canned chicken broth. Cooking the broth took two days in two large crockpots. One step at a time, I strained the broth, then took a break. Next, I set up the pressure cooker. The I took another break. Finally, I filled the jars, put the lids on, and got all ten jars into the pressure cooker. That process didn’t require as many breaks because I could monitor the pressure cooker while sitting on the stepstool in the kitchen.
If this post seems dull, it’s because healing and pacing is low on excitement. I’ve loaded up on reading material for my Kindle and through Paperback swap, and explored involvement in the growing local historical society. I may be able to apply my grant writing skills to help them expand and open their new building. Meanwhile, the foot will heal. Slowly. Very slowly.