Remember my secret happy project?


We did it! We yarn-bombed a corner of my neighbourhood. We were 10 knitters, 14 installers and one videographer. It was so much work but so much fun. I dare you to watch this short video without smiling:


   
(video: Mark Blevis)


There are lots more photos up at our web site, Frivolknitty.com. It was so much fun - we're already planning for the next time!


An observer pointed out that three of the knitters/installers involved in this project have lived with breast cancer. I don't think it's coincidence that we all wanted to share in a little frivolity.

The cancer centre has implemented something new. When patients check in for treatment, we're asked to fill out a questionnaire related to our well-being (it has some acronym but I can't remember it). We're given the option of filling it in on a central computer but I'm really squeamish about germy public terminals. I always ask to fill the thing in manually (furthering my feeling that I am more of a Luddite than some of my seniors).

Filling out the form involves reading statements such as "I am in pain" and then circling a number between 1 (no pain) and 7 (excruciating pain - or something like that). Most of my numbers were very low except for the ones about my emotional well being and sleep habits. My answers resulted in the following conversation with the well-meaning nurse who checked me in for treatment:

Nurse: 

"You're depressed. Why?"

Me: 

"I'm just a little blue. Five years of doing this is a long time." (Translation: "I'm pissed off and fed up and I have survivors' guilt.") 

"I'm seeing someone at the psychosocial oncology centre." (Translation: "I don't want to talk about it with you, in front of the all the strangers in the room"). 

"The crisis is over and now it's all hitting me." (Translation: "I think I have PTSD. Did I mention that I'm pissed off and fed up?")

Next time, I'm stuffing the damn form into the bottom of my purse.

All the junk science and bogus claims¹ about breast cancer are really getting to me these days. What bothers me even more is that some of the denial and outright obfuscation comes from sources we in the mainstream are supposed to trust.²

How do you decide what's real?

With so many conflicting messages about lifestyle changes, what advice are we to follow?

And when are those in a position to do anything going to truly investigate the environmental links to breast cancer? (I know the answer to that one. Probably never.)

It's enough to send a girl back to bed. It's pretty dark under the duvet. Maybe I can hide from the world for a while and pretend all that annoys me doesn't exist.

That's not a terribly constructive solution though, so more and more I'm turning to all the good stuff on the internet. There are lots of smart people advocating for themselves and others. And, thankfully, there is always Breast Cancer Action.

Image courtesy Breast Cancer Action.

I just signed up for a"Webinar" called "Separating Hype from Hope. Breast Cancer Media Literacy." You have to register in advance but it's completely free. There are two sessions, one on Wednesday, May 29 at 10am PST/ 1pm EST and one on Thursday, May 30 at 2pm PST / 5pm EST.

The agenda includes the following:

•  The larger picture of media literacy
• What is right and wrong about health coverage in the media
• The current state of journalism and its impact on consumers 
• How industry and pharmaceuticals influence health news reporting
• How an issue is considered newsworthy
• The 10 criteria for medical stories with specific breast cancer focused examples 
• How to give reporters feedback
• How you can get involved

Sounds like a breath of fresh air. I'm in.

Courtesy xkcd.com and thanks to a friend for this timely alert.

¹ The article that I linked to was at the very top of the page when I Googled "cure for cancer." Ugh.

² For example, this is from an article, "Barbara Brenner, breast cancer iconoclast, dies at 61": 

"Dr. Otis W. Brawley, the chief medical and scientific officer of the American Cancer Society, called Ms. Brenner “a dear friend,” but added, “I didn’t agree with her, probably 40 or 50 percent of the time.”

One point of difference was over whether environmental factors play a major role in cancer. Ms. Brenner thought they did; Dr. Brawley is skeptical."

My spouse (after listening to lengthy rant #342 yesterday): "Not to excuse that person's bad behaviour, but a lot of things piss you off these days."

Me: "True."

Spouse: "Oh! We forgot to put the compost out!"

Me: (String of expletives, unprintable in a blog my children might read).

Spouse (Meaningful silence)

Then we both burst out laughing.

I need to get some perspective.

But at least I can still laugh at myself.

A couple of weekends ago, my family spent the day in Prince Edward County, celebrating my father-in-law's 75 birthday. It was a wonderful day and we were all pretty tired on the long drive home. 

Since the kids both had there headphones on, I started looking through my ipod for music I hadn't heard in a while. I decided I was in the mood for PEI's Lennie Gallant (did you know that practically every second person on the East side of PEI is named Gallant? It really is the name on every other mailbox).

As we listened, Tim and I remembered that one of our first dates was a Lennie Gallant concert at Artspace in Peterborough. I will never forget that evening. Lennie definitely has a special place in my heart.

As we listened, I remembered that, after I quit a job many years ago, I played a song of his over and over in my office. I even had the lyrics taped to my computer. For my last three weeks in the office, I listened to it many times a day.

I thought it was an angry song that I used to bolster myself through a difficult time. I couldn't recall what it was but as the first notes came through the speakers, I remembered.

And it went like this: 

"Only love will guide us through this time
As long as there's one flame
We have a lifeline"

I was so surprised and pleased to be reminded that, at at time when I was very angry, I was affirming to myself that love would get me through.

I wrote this post in my head that Saturday night in the car and then kind of forgot about it. But now, as emotions are running high around the Ontario election, I feel the need to remind myself what matters.

Love isn't the only thing we need to effect real change but it is the most necessary ingredient. We can't get anywhere without it.

On Tuesday, as I waited at the Heart Institute for my regular echocardiogram, I had the following brief conversation with the older gentleman sitting beside me.

Me: Is that a Playbook?

Him: I don't play! This is an ipad!

Me: Oh. I was just curious about the Blackberry version of the tablet.

Him  (scornfully): Do you have a Blackberry?

Me: I do.

I didn't bother explaining that I don't find touch screens to be intuitive and that I prefer an actual keyboard for sending emails and texting. Instead, I pulled out my knitting, thus eradicating all doubt that I was the Luddite in our conversation.

Or post-chemo brain rot.

But I loved this:

A formidable woman passed away earlier this month. Barbara Brenner was the former Executive Director of Breast Cancer Action and an articulate and out spoken advocate for change. Her voice cut through a haze of pink, raising awareness of corporate exploitation, pink ribbon crap and the environmental causes of breast cancer. She was a real hero, who died way too young.

My friend Tamara sent me this excellent article from the New York Times. She drew my attention to the last line, a wonderful quote from Suzanne Lampert, Ms. Brenner's spouse of 38 years:

“I always told her that I would make sure her obituary said she died after a long battle with the breast cancer industry.”

Catherine Brunelle, who blogs at Bumpyboobs.ca shared the story of what happened when she was diagonosed with metastatic breast cancer in Ontario:

"I would be put (back) on Zoladex, I was told, which is a drug that puts your ovaries to sleep. Zoladex isnot covered by OHIP. The oncologist wasn’t sure if it would help, but he figured we should try that first and foremost before doing anything else. Except. . . except that monthly shot costs about 500 bucks a pop. Or I could pay 1500 a go and get the three month shot.
But insurance would pay for it.
Right?
…
Oh wait, you don’t have insurance? Well then, you need to have your ovaries removed via surgery.
!!
That is seriously what I was told. And if this post seems a bit fragmented in pace, it’s because to this day I’m stupefied by the solution to my struggling to afford medication – cut out perfectly healthy pieces of my body, despite there being an effective pill that could do the same thing minus the traumatic surgery."

This is mind-boggling. Being submitted to unnecessary surgery at a much higher cost to the system than covering the drug would have been. And at a much greater risk to the patient. 

Ultimately, Catherine was able to qualify for Trillium but with a significant deductible - one she would never have had to pay if she opted for surgery or another kind of treatment.

Catherine supports the campaign at FairCancerCare.ca. She's signed our petition and is now helping to spread the word.

Will you join us?

P.S.: Catherine is also a novelist. I've read her book and it's lovely. You should check that out, too.

This past week end, I attended my niece's 13th birthday party. It was a really big deal (over 100 guests in attendance), with great food and a DJ. We all had a great time.

I spend a little time on the dance floor (when the era was right. Music from the 60s to the 80s tends to call my name). At one point I noticed my spouse looking over at us rather intently. When I asked him later he told me that he was having a "poignant moment."

We were three strong women, all mothers, all activists in our own way and all at different stages of cancer survivorship. And we were tearing up the dance floor. We were smoking (if I do say so myself) and not just as cancer patients, not just as women over 40. We were three women who loved to dance and who were having a great time.

I remember thinking, I really love dancing with these women. And when I was on the dance floor, I didn't think of cancer at all.

I seem to still be recovering from the weekend, with a brain full of mush. For those new readers I picked up after my post on Angelina Jolie - you might want to come back tomorrow.

Here's some of the random slurry from my brain:

Speaking of slurry, my 10 year old's baseball team voted on a name over the weekend. The results came in yesterday.

After one failed experiment, I made my own eye makeup remover yesterday. I don't wear makeup very often but when I do, I want something that will take it off without leaving me with more wrinkles and fewer eyelashes. My second try yielded great results - Burt's Bees baby wash, olive oil and water. It wasn't an original recipe or anything, I'm just thrilled that I was able to avoid buying a small, expensive bottle of something I was convinced I could make myself.

Finally, we had our Mothers' Day on Sunday (delayed because half the family was at the Toronto Comic Arts Festival last weekend). Pancakes and Star Trek Into Darkness were my two requests and they were happily fulfilled. The pancakes were delicious and the movie had Zachary Quinto, Simon Pegg and Benedict Cumberbatch. 
I loved every single second of Star Trek...

SPOILER ALERT!!

It was fun, fast-paced and had snappy dialogue and lots of nostalgia. Also did I mention Zachary Quinto, Simon Pegg and Benedict Cumberbatch? 
It wasn't until I got home that I started to brood about the fact that there don't seem to be any women running Starfleet. And the movie fails the Bechdel test.
At the time, I didn't even notice. I blame it on Quinto, Pegg and Cumberbatch.

As anyone who has ever been to my house can attest, the place tends to be a total disaster pretty cluttered. We lose stuff all the time, only to find it months or even years later, after it's already been replaced.

But I have to admit that never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd find myself typing this sentence: 

I can't find my prosthetic breast.

We've actually been making some inroads in terms of beating back the clutter. But some rooms are getting worse before they get better. And our bedroom is complete tip.

Now admittedly, I don't wear my prosthesis all that often. But there are days when I want to fly below the radar. There are clothes that just look better when they're symmetrical. And I haven't seen my fake breast for weeks.

Could I have absent-mindedly stuck it in a drawer that I haven't checked?

Could it have become mixed up in the bags of clothing destined for donation?

Could it be under the mounds of clothes yet to be sorted?

Could I have left it somewhere?

It's a mystery.

If you find it, please let me know. 

Or just leave it in my mail box.



Update May 26: We found it! It was in a suitcase. In our bedroom. From a trip on which neither I nor the boob were in attendance. I think I took it off one night and too lazy tired to put it away, popped my bra with the boob still in it, in the open suitcase. Then, the suitcase was closed and left. Three weeks later, when my love finally unpacked - he found my prosthesis. Mystery solved.

I am home after a lovely, packed extended week end away.

I also pulled something in my back getting my suitcase off the train as I arrived in Ottawa. It hurts.

I have a bunch of things I want to write about here (my week end, some thoughts on this whole book promoting business, two book reviews and a couple of other things) but today, I am too sore to sit still for long.

Maybe a gentle walk will help.

On April 25th, Alaina Giordano lost custody of her children. A North Carolina judge ruled that her two kids need to move to Chicago to live with Giordano's ex-husband. She based this decision, in large part, on the fact that Giordano has Stage 4 breast cancer.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

I can't be articulate about this story, except to say that I work very hard to make sure that my kids will be all right- no matter what happens. I wish I could protect them and all those who love me from the realities of cancer. But do I think that cancer makes me a less fit parent?

Not on your life.

Want to read more?

I first read about this on BlogHer, where Jenna argued very articulately that anyone who has ever been ill or ever might be should care about this story and the frightening precedent it has set.

My friend Judy (from Mothers With Cancer) wrote a beautiful response called "We Are All Terminal." 

You can read Alaina's own words on her blog, Beauty in Truth.

I couldn't find a single post or comment by anyone who agreed with the judge's ruling.

For that, I'm grateful.

I'm sorry that my fear becomes yours.

I regret that you get pulled into my panic.

I feel ill when my every cough, ache or bump twists your insides the way it does mine.

I would prefer to protect you.

I want to watch you smile, hear your laugh, feel your heart thump with joy when you pull me to your chest.

I don't want to make you scared, or sad or worried.

But I can't wish you weren't ever scared or sad or worried.

Because I need to share.

Because I need not to feel alone.

Because I need you.

People keep asking me what I think of Angelina Jolie's prophylactic mastectomy and subsequent op-ed in the New York Times. I've let my thoughts simmer a little before putting them into words. It's hard not to react viscerally to such a dramatic story.

I wonder who'll play Angelina in the movie?

First and foremost, I want to say that what any woman does to her own body and to preserve her own health is her own damn business. Unless we are in her exact pair of shoes there are limitations on the right to comment. 

Secondly, I think Ms. Jolie's choice to go public, especially given her status as a Hollywood sex symbol, is very brave. Having a mastectomy is shame-laden for so many of us and discussing the procedure openly does a great service. I love that she chose to emphasize how, most of the time, the mastectomy is not major surgery and recovery can be fairly smooth. A woman without her "natural" breasts can adjust and go on living her life as she did before - even when her husband is Brad Pitt and what she did before was star on the big screen.

I think that Ms. Jolie made the right decision for herself, based on her situation and the resources at her disposal. How do I know it was the right decision? Because she is happy with it.

That being said, I do have a few things I need to get off my (ahem) chest. These are my thoughts, in no particular order:

• The vast majority of women would not benefit from genetic testing. We have no family history of breast cancer and do not belong to ethnic groups most likely to carry the gene.

• Immediate reconstruction is not an option for some women, nor is it the norm in Canada. For some of us, reconstructions is never an option, for physical or economic reasons.

• Reconstruction is major surgery. Some of us would never put ourselves through a much more serious operation, that may not be successful, just to meet a societal definition of "beautiful", or even "normal."

• The kind of nipple preserving surgery Ms. Jolie had is still new and not yet widely offered. In Canada, a group called Be The Choice is trying to change that. Melanie Adrian,the founder of Be The Choice had to see many doctors and fight hard to obtain this procedure for herself in 2011.  

• Many women do not have the resources to get the quality of care that made the process so easy for Ms. Jolie. Even in Canada, where we have theoretically universal health care, there are geographic and socio-economic discrepancies that affect treatment and recovery.

• Access to testing is also very restricted, largely because the BRCA1 and 2 genes (the ones that can mutate and cause breast and ovarian cancer) have been patented by a company that restricts its use and ensures that the cost remains high. The patenting of genes is an odious and frightening practice. I'll elaborate on that and share some resources in a future post.

Every woman needs to make her own decision about prevention, surgery and treatment. What we all should agree on is that these decisions ought never to be restricted by available resources, ignorance or the greed of big corporations.

Want to read more? Here are some of my favourite posts, offering insight from different perspectives:

"Still Boobless", on Insert Boobs Here, a blog by Sarah Merchant who was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer at 28.

"Angelina Jolie's choice not the only one" by Joan Walsh, on Salon.com.

"Angelina Jolie's Bilateral Prophylactic Mastectomy - If She &  I Could Chat", on Nancy's Point, by Nancy Stordahl who lost her mother to breast cancer in 2008 and went through the illness herself in 2010.

"Preventative Mastectomy: Angelina Jolie's Very Public Choice" on BlogHer by Contributing Editor Laurie White.

As, I mentioned in my last post,  I've been working on a campaign called Fair Cancer Care. We're hoping to create awareness, followed by change to how chemotherapy drugs are covered in Ontario. We launched in time for the provincial election campaign, in the hopes that we can get our local candidates to take an interest. You can find out more at FairCancerCare.ca.

The people behind the campaign are a group of Ottawa residents who have all been affected by cancer. We've all been promoting the hell out of this campaign as the election date draws nearer. My good friend Andrea is a driving force in our group. Her creativity has been key to getting us moving and, as someone who lived through breast cancer, she gets how crucial it is to ensure that everyone gets the best care available.

Yesterday, Andrea had the following exchange via email with someone she knows slightly, who'd been asked to sign our petition. I share the following exchange with Andrea's permission. For the purposes of clarity and my own amusement, we'll call the other person Ms. Smug Hubris.

SH: "I don't believe that cancer causing radiation and toxic chemotherapy is the cure for cancer. Healthy whole food and a healthy lifestyle is."

Andrea: "I thought the exact same thing before I got it. Wishing you continued good health."

Although my response was much cruder (rhymes with "Oh duck off"), I think Andrea was perfect. While Ms. SH is entitled to her opinion, I'll continue to fight for the very best cancer care to be available to everyone. 

Because the thing is, anyone can get cancer. I've known several extremely healthy living, eating and drinking people who've been hit by a cancer diagnosis. I know people who did everything right before and after that diagnosis and died anyway.

We need a cure for cancer. But until then, we need the very best chemotherapies to be available as soon as they are approved. And everyone should have access to the treatment their oncologist prescribes, regardless of ability to pay.

Ms. Smug Hubris can chose whether or not to seek treatment, should she be unlucky enough to get cancer. We'll keep working to make sure it's available.

To learn more and sign our petition, please visit FairCancerCare.ca. You can like us on Facebook, too.

It's my friend Sassymonkey's birthday today and she's asked us all to help with something.

She's written a post for BlogHer about a very special campaign. It's called "Books Make a Difference: Share a Book That Changed Your Life to Donate a Book to a Child in Need."

All you need to do is leave a comment on her post about a book that made a big impact on your life:

"BlogHer and BookRenter, a company that rents textbooks to college students, have joined forces because we know that books makes a difference.

From May 3-28, together we are working to make a difference in children's lives by generating new books for children who need them most -- via the nonprofit organization First Book.

Want to help? For every answer we receive in the comments to the following question, one book will be donated:

What book has had the greatest impact on your life?"

About her own life-long love of books, Sassymonkey shares the following:

"My older siblings helped teach me to read at a young age (probably so that I'd stop pestering them), and I simply never stopped. When I was a kid, I never had the latest video game or the trendy clothes, but I had a life full of literary riches. Books opened up a whole world of possibilities to me, ones I grabbed at with both hands. I strongly believe that it was because of the possibilities presented to me in these books that I can claim to be only the second person in my family to graduate from high school, and the first to obtain a university degree."

My own relationship to books was equally intense and I have tried to instill a love of books and reading in my own kids. I feel very strongly that every child should have access to a wide variety of books throughout their lives.

Here is my contribution to the comments (you don't have to be so long-winded. It's OK to just leave the title of a book that was important to you):

"I hope I'm not breaking any rules but I just can't narrow it down.

The Bobbsey Twins: I was given the first one when I was 6 or 7. I remember being disappointed that it didn't have any pictures but I tore through it. And after that every trip to the "big city" had to include a new one to add to my collection.

Pride and Prejudice: I read it for the first time when I was just 8 years old. I'd already burned my way through most of the kids' books in my local library and had been awarded an adult's library card. I'm not sure why I picked it up or what I got out of it but I loved it - and I've read it many times since (and drooled over the inappropriately shirtless Colin Firth in the BBC mini-series).

Steinbeck: I think I started with the Grapes of Wrath (for a Grade 7 book report. I was a nerd) but I also loved Of Mice And Men and The Winter of Our Discontent (but not The Red Pony - it was ruined for me by being an assigned book in a high school English class). His writing was so beautiful and his stories were so compelling - I remember his characters to this day. And he taught me about the beauty of sad or ambivalent endings.

Sigh. I love books."

Please go on over to BlogHer and add your favourite book to the list. I'd love to hear about it, so do let me know (over at BlogHer or via the comments here) whether I persuaded you to contribute.

And is there anything better than the smell of a new book?

I was going through some writing from last fall and I found this. I wrote it, in response to a prompt - "Write about falling" - for an online writing class I was taking. Reading this brings me right back to how I felt when I heard the news that the cancer had metastasized to my brain. I share it now because I think it might resonate with anyone who's every been blind-sided with unwelcome news.

“Your CT scans were fine.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“But the MRI revealed a spot on your brain.”

And with those words you start falling. You feel the floor crumble beneath you and the sounds of talking fade as you slip away. You're vaguely aware of you own voice, sounding oddly calm, as the faces in the room grow blurry.

All that was solid rushes by and your lungs gasp for air and yet you move more slowly than you would have thought possible. The room, your spouse, the spot of egg on your doctor's tie, the clock on the wall with the time you had noted (you'd been annoyed that your appointment was starting twenty minutes late) recede into the tiniest of specks and the darkness engulfs you.

Falling feels scary and good at the same time. You are panicked but somehow you know that to fall away from your present is as good an escape as any.

And then a voice cuts through. One you know and love. A voice that has brought you back to reality so many times in the past.

And you land, far below where you started, with a thud.

You pick yourself up, reach back up towards those fluorescent lights you've always hated. And slowly, deliberately, reluctantly, you haul yourself back and to sit in the chair on which you started. You don't know what was said in your absence. No one seems to have noticed you were gone.

You find out later that your head nodded, your lips moved and words came out while you were falling. An appointment was booked, reassurances were made and a promise that a plan would soon be in place.

You remember nothing after the words, “spot on your brain.”

It doesn't matter. You've been through something like this before. Someone will fill you in on what you missed while you were falling.

I had a very vivid dream last night. I had a arrived at a big hall full of people and remembered that I was there to give a speech. Then, as I approached the podium, I realized that I was completely unprepared - I had forgotten to prepare anything to say.

My stomach dropped down to my toes.

Now I have never, as far as I can recollect, forgotten to prepare for a speech or presentation. And while I am speaking at a fundraiser in Montreal in June and I am a bit nervous, I'm not really concerned that I won't be ready (not yet, anyway).

Life has been full of challenges lately and I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. Some of these have been expected and others have come at me from out of the blue (or at least that's how it's felt). And I have definitely been feeling ill-equipped to respond.

When I was a little girl, I had to play dodgeball at every recess in Grades 4 and 5. Our teachers thought it kept us out of trouble but I just remember every recess as a misery. My stress levels would be very high as the balls came at me. I'd dodge a few, catch the odd one (mostly out of sheer luck) and get walloped hard, at least once in every fifteen minute game. Getting hit didn't hurt that badly (I was more stunned and winded than actually injured) but I always welcomed the moment that the bell would ring and I could return to the safety of the classroom.

Life (I'm sure you see where I'm going with this) has been a little like playing dodgeball lately. My skills have improved but I still don't enjoy playing that particular game. I'd rather take a walk along the canal (or a nap would be good).

For the most part, things are fine around here. But I wouldn't complain if life were just a tiny bit less interesting.

Has anyone else noticed a new trend in blog spam? Usually spam comments tell me how brilliant I am, before linking to the stuff they sell. Then there are the ones about sex and related paraphernalia - often gibberish and including phrases like "home coffee maker porn shoes cologne gnocchi". 

Recently, I've had a couple that sound like trolls - accusing me of letting down my readership with laziness or self-pity. This appears to be a new spamming strategy.

My last post, "i don't have a brain tumour",was a photo of a bottle of Prosecco and a glass full of the bubbly stuff. There was not text, as I felt the title and the image were pretty self-explanatory. Before I delete all today's spam into oblivion, I thought I'd share this shining example of incongruous, inappropriate spamming:

"The very next time I read a blog, I hope that it won't fail me just as much as this particular one. After all, Yes, it was my choice to read through, nonetheless I truly believed you would probably have something interesting to talk about. All I hear is a bunch of crying about something that you could fix if you weren't too busy searching for attention. Feel free to surf to my web page: xxxx"

Ha! I'm sorry my celebration was so un-interesting, depressing and attention-seeking.Thanks especially for inviting me to check out your site, even though I'm so disappointing.

Do these links ever work?

I loathe spam but this totally cracked me up. 

The last time I checked in for chemo, I accidentally handed the receptionist my Subway card, instead of my green hospital card.

She thought this was so funny, that she showed everyone in the room. I pretended to be angry, trying to grab the card back. It felt good to laugh in that, sometimes sad, place.

I told her though, that my subconscious had been at play. I gave her the Subway card because I feel that after so many rounds of chemo, I should get some sort of bonus prize.

I was feeling a little sad and frustrated this morning (no bad news and no crisis just some things that made me feel, well, sad and frustrated).

Then I saw this video that my friend H. posted to Facebook and I laughed, smiled and sang along. It made me feel hopeful, too.




Then, via this post on BlogHer, I discovered Regretsy.

Have you heard of Etsy? It's a great web site where crafters and artists of all kinds can sell their wares. I love Etsy and have spent many hours checking out its contents. I've also bought many wonderful things.

However, the vendors are not adjudicated. This means that goods posted to Etsy can be, a little uneven in quality - sometimes a little (or a lot weird) and sometimes just plain atrocious.

Regretsy brings together the best of the worst of these (the site's motto is "Where DYI meets WTF") and, combined with biting commentary, the results are hilarious. I lost myself on the site this morning, laughing until my sides hurt and tears streamed down my face.

Check the left sidebar for categories. I've only viewed a fraction of what they've put together but some of my favourites include the Bubble Scarf in Chocolate Brown, Watercolour Print Cat Art, this tree trunk thing that poops candy (I'm sorry, I'm unduly amused by the scatological), the bridal veil for dogs (mostly because of the commentary, which could have been written by my spouse) and especially the chicken poncho (that's a poncho for a chicken not a poncho with chickens on it and it helped me feel much better about my recent penchant for knitting dish cloths).

I'm embarassed to say how much time I've spent looking at this stuff today.

Time to go do something constructive.

My face hurts from laughing.

That's what struck me when I met Sarah in person: she had the most beautiful deep brown eyes I had ever seen, with a lovely smile to match.

It was February 2010 and we were both in attendance at the Annual Conference for Young Women Affected by Breast Cancer. We had met online through our online community, Mothers With Cancer.

A short time after we met, Sarah found out that her breast cancer had become metastatic and she began treatment anew. A few weeks ago, she learned that the cancer had spread to her brain and she started radiation treatment. A couple of days ago, she was admitted to hospital with breathing issues. Last night, she passed away.

I won't claim to have known beautiful Sarah better than I did. But I did consider her my friend. And I will miss her.

Here are some things I knew about this remarkable woman:

She loved her three daughters very much and she was incredibly proud of them.

She was happily married.

She was a talented photographer.

She loved animals, especially dogs and horses.

She had an appreciation for good coffee.

She left this world way too soon.

Sarah, you will truly be missed. My heart goes out to your family and to all who loved you.

You can read more about Sarah at her blog, Spruce Hill. Tributes have also been posted by Jenny (cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer), Susan, Nicole, Ree and Mary Beth.

Note: Blogger was down for about 20 hours and when it came back up, this post was gone (as were the comments from my previous post). If you are seeing this twice in a row on the blog, it will be because Blogger has returned it to me.

For the last few months, I've been playing along with a group of folks over at BlogHer who've formed a group called "List Lovers Unite." I'm a sucker for "to do" lists and I've found the practice of making monthly to do lists to be rather compelling.

Sticking to the list, however, has yielded mixed results. Here's how I did with April's list (as with previous months, completed tasks are in blue, partially done tasks are in green and the tasks I didn't even started in purple):

1. Write a first draft of the short story I've been kicking around. (I wrote an outline)

2. Spend an average of eight hours writing per week. (Not even close)

3. Do strength training at least once a week and continue with the five hours of cardio per week. (I'm very pleased to have started the strength training, which I did, for at least a few minutes, five times in four weeks. I fell a couple of hours short with the cardio, though. I need to remind myself on rainy days that I'm not made of sugar).

4. Sort through my clothes (carried over from February and March). (I bought some clothes but my closet is still overflowing with stuff I can't or don't wear).

5.Make summer plans for my family. (we are going to Blue SkiesMusic Festival this year and have tentatively planned another couple of trips but I have yet to sit down with a calendar and nail it all down)

6. Brush my big (shedding) dog once a week and my smaller (non-shedding, tangling) dog every other day. (I brushed the big dog once and the little one twice. I did take Lucy to the groomer on Tuesday, though. She's been shorn now, so now I really only have ears and tail to brush for a while)

7. Update my Ravelry project page.

8. Finish another scarf.

9. Make soup twice. (the jambalaya in the slow cooker when I wrote last month's post was the only soup I made. It was a good one, though)

10. Get a hair cut. (Done. And I feel much better with shorter hair)

I did get something done that had been on my previous month's to do list. I bought a bathing suit. And then I wrote about it for BlogHer and even posted a photo of myself.

I'm still reeling from that one.

Around the middle of the month, I realized was feeling very grumpy. I figured out that I was unhappy because, while I wasn't necessarily getting anything done, I also wasn't having any fun. I had to remind myself that, as I'm the one attempting to give my life more structure, I'm also the one who needs to give myself permission to be flexible.

When I drew up my goals for this month, I decided to incorporate time to read, relax and be creative (a bit ironic, I know) and to set aside time to specifically attack this list.


Things to do in May:

1. Spend an average of eight hours writing a week (I'm already behind. Sigh. I have started to edit the first draft of my novel, though, so that's something).

2. Do strength training at least twice every week (Did it once last week, so I'm behind there too).

3. Do an average of five hours of cardio every week (On track. Yay!)

4. Make soup twice (I've already made and eaten a big batch of sweet potato, red lentil and spinach soup).

5. Sort through my clothes (carried over from February, March and April - but I really do want to get this done).

6. Finish making summer plans for my family.

7. Go to at least one bike store and do some test rides (That should be fun. Also, my bike has started to make some pretty scary noises when I pedal or change gears).

8. Spend one afternoon every week doing something fun or relaxing (Last week, I spent part of Mothers' Day finishing Water for Elephants, which I loved reading. This week, I'll spend Thursday afternoon either reading or knitting. I need to make the space in my life to do the things that restore my energy and my creativity).

9. Finish one knitting project (I made a bunch of dish clothes and a dish towel for a friend and gave them to her, so this one's done already).

10. Spend one afternoon per week just dealing with this to-do list (last week it was Wednesday and this week it will be Wednesday, too).

Anyone else out there still working on the monthly list? How's it working for you?

My beautiful first born turned 13 yesterday. The cliche is true - it happens in the blink of an eye. He's a good person - smart, creative, caring and funny. We are so proud of the man he is becoming.

My heart aches, I'm so proud of him.

Happy birthday, 12 year old.

A couple of weeks ago, the homework for my writing class was to take a headline from a tabloid and use it as a jumping off point for a more serious short story or poem. I was uninspired by the headlines in my grocery star tabloids ("Brad Gives Angie Ultimatum!" "Jennifer Lopez Fights Eating Disorder!" "Larry King Marries Again!") and decided to go to that old standby - the now sadly defunct Weekly World News. I stole a legendary headline from them. The monologue that follows is all my own.

"Bat Boy Found in West Virginia Cave!" by Bill Creighton, Weekly World News, June 23, 1992

I blame the doctor.

I wanted a baby so badly. The other doctors I'd seen wouldn't help me, so I sought this one out. The office was in a bad part of town and it was dark and smelled a bit funny but he didn't ask me many questions. He said he would help me get pregnant.

And he did. I don't know what the shots were for or what was in the medicine he gave me to drink but I didn't care. I would soon have my baby.

It wasn't a difficult pregnancy. I didn't get too sick. The last few months were hard when I had trouble sleeping but that was it, really. It would have been more fun if there had been someone – anyone - in my life to share in my excitement, throw me a baby shower or help me set up the nursery. But I didn't mind so much. Soon I would have a baby to love. I wouldn't need anyone else.

He was born right on his due date and, from the first, I could tell something was wrong. The first time I held him in my arms I felt not love but revulsion. This was not the child I was meant to have. He was not my baby.

In those first few months he cried a lot. I made sure that he was fed and his diapers were dry but for the most part, I left him in his crib. He was safe there and I did not have to look at him.

As he got older, I continued to cringe at his touch. When he tried to crawl in my lap, I would push him away. When he cried, I left him to it. No one could say that I did not take good care of him. He had food and clothes, I even bought him books and toys. But nothing could make me love him.

I don't feel too guilty about that because it soon became clear that he was a bad kid. The first time he got into trouble in school, I went in to meet with the his teacher. After that, I didn't bother answering her notes or phone calls. If he couldn't get along with the other kids there was really nothing I could do.

The first time he ran away, I called around to the neighbours. The second time, I left the door unlocked so he could come in when he decided to come home. The third time, I locked it.

The first time he was arrested, I went down to the police station right away. The second time, I let him spend the night in jail. The third time – I decided he was the state's problem not mine.

A short time after that, he stole a car from the school parking lot. I haven't heard from him since. This morning I got a call. He was found hiding in a cave in West Virginia. They want me to come to him. But what would be the point?

That child, that particular child, was a mistake. He should never have been born.

I am sad, though. I do feel a loss – not for that child but for the baby I might have had. The mother I might have been.

Maybe I should try again.

This time, I'll go to a different doctor.