It's been so long since we have have any decent amount of rain here on the Central Coast of California. The last week it has been raining off and on, which has been such a gift. The hillsides around the county are getting green again. I am hoping that it brings out the wild flowers, in mass, this year. Even the mustard seed plant, that grows profusely in this area, (that some consider a weed) would be a welcome sight. It covers the hills and valleys and surrounds the back roads I prefer to drive. Legend has it that the mustard seed was sewn along the path the priests traveled (most believe they walked most of the time) as they set up the missions that expanded the Catholic Church up and down the Coast of California (following the trail that is called El Camino Real). I don't care how it got here. It is pretty to look at when it blooms.
In my teenage years I lived in Bakersfield, California. It is located in the Central Valley of California. When the seasons behaved themselves, we would have spectacular displays of poppies (California's state flower, orange in color) and lupin, a low growing plant that produces stalks of purple flowers. Mixed into these would be the mustard seed plants, a bright yellow in color.
Just as New England is famous for their fall leaves, the Central Valley is famous for the wildflower displays. Every spring it was well worth the time to take a Saturday or Sunday drive and go out into the foothills surrounding Bakersfield, encompassing small towns like Shafter and Delano, Taft, Buttonwillow and out to the rolling hills around Lake Isabella, to look at the wildflowers. Miles and miles of hills blanketed in purple, orange and yellow blooms. Sometimes they were mixed but more often the flowers claimed their territory a color at a time. Sweeping hummocks of purple, valleys of orange and flat mesas of yellow. It truly is one of the best features of that section of the state.
And it is a big thing. I don't know if they still do this, but when I was living there in the mid '70's, the newspapers would track the wildflowers' emergence, day by day, and post when it was optimum viewing day. Both locals and visitors were kept up to date as the wildflower season progressed. And then, it seemed, just as quickly as it came, the season would be gone. And the beforehand beautiful hills and valleys would be back to their velvety browns and tans and taupe colors. Lovely too, but not as sight- seeing-worthy.
We don't get as many wildflowers here on the Central Coast. People visit us to see our beaches and tour our wineries. But the mustard seed plants always take me back to those years in Bakersfield and the fantastic display we would all wait and hope for every year.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Gratitude: Verse 2
Yesterday I got a dose of reality. In 2012 I had surgery for colon cancer. I was so lucky that when they did my surgery they were able to remove the entire mass and it had not spread anywhere else. The doctors think the tumor had been there for 5-7 years and had probably been cancerous for at least 2 of those years. I did not have to go through chemotherapy. I did not have to endure radiation. I did not have to take medicine with side effects. Everybody was happy: the surgeon, the oncologist, the general practitioner, my husband and family and me; I was ecstatic!
Once you are diagnosed with cancer, there is always the possibility that it will return, either in its original form or in some other place in the system. So, for the first year after my surgery I met with an oncologist every three months and had blood tests done to look for "cancer markers." There were none. The first year spiraled into the second. Still no markers present. This year, I have only had to see the oncologist every 4 months. He tells me that if I can survive this year as is, I will be able to reduce the visits to every 6 months. Where they will stay until my 5 year mark (at which time they feel you are in remission; not cured, mind you, but in remission.) I don't know when they consider you "cured": 10 years? 20 years?
In the two years I have been going to this doctor, I have always had good office visits. My tests have been clean, the office staff is a little aloof but efficient and pleasant (I think this is a defense mechanism. I'm sure they quickly figure out that to become too attached, or even personal, with a patient in their office, very often means a heartbreak down the road. Sadly, it is the nature of the disease. I can't fault them for this.) The oncologist is warm and caring and interested in what I have to say and does his best to answer all my questions truthfully. So, why is there a pit in my stomach before every visit?
Because there is always the possibility that, this visit, I will get the news that something is just not right. Your world hangs motionless for a moment, and then all the questions come flooding into your brain so quickly, like they did when I was first diagnosed, that you basically just sit there and stare, with this spaghetti of thoughts. Luckily the doctors always have a plan (not their first rodeo) and they continue talking, giving you plans and options and slowly, ever so slowly, you come back to reality enough so that you can answer their questions, and by the time you leave the office, your brain has kicked into high gear and is already dealing with the ancillary of related topics: work, family, logistics, side effects, where will I search on the Internet to get information, and most importantly - how fast can I get home and cry?
A simple walk to the bathroom in the oncologist office takes one past the chemotherapy rooms. And all these thoughts embark on their hopefully, fruitless journey. And the hollow feeling in my stomach lurches awake. I don't look at these people; it would be rude. But I know there is a room full of people and nurses and equipment. And I think: There, but for the grace of God go I.
And when the visit is over, I sit in my car for a minute and try to think of the groceries I need to get before I go home. But it doesn't work. I close my eyes for a minute and let the feeling of gratitude wash over me.
Once you are diagnosed with cancer, there is always the possibility that it will return, either in its original form or in some other place in the system. So, for the first year after my surgery I met with an oncologist every three months and had blood tests done to look for "cancer markers." There were none. The first year spiraled into the second. Still no markers present. This year, I have only had to see the oncologist every 4 months. He tells me that if I can survive this year as is, I will be able to reduce the visits to every 6 months. Where they will stay until my 5 year mark (at which time they feel you are in remission; not cured, mind you, but in remission.) I don't know when they consider you "cured": 10 years? 20 years?
In the two years I have been going to this doctor, I have always had good office visits. My tests have been clean, the office staff is a little aloof but efficient and pleasant (I think this is a defense mechanism. I'm sure they quickly figure out that to become too attached, or even personal, with a patient in their office, very often means a heartbreak down the road. Sadly, it is the nature of the disease. I can't fault them for this.) The oncologist is warm and caring and interested in what I have to say and does his best to answer all my questions truthfully. So, why is there a pit in my stomach before every visit?
Because there is always the possibility that, this visit, I will get the news that something is just not right. Your world hangs motionless for a moment, and then all the questions come flooding into your brain so quickly, like they did when I was first diagnosed, that you basically just sit there and stare, with this spaghetti of thoughts. Luckily the doctors always have a plan (not their first rodeo) and they continue talking, giving you plans and options and slowly, ever so slowly, you come back to reality enough so that you can answer their questions, and by the time you leave the office, your brain has kicked into high gear and is already dealing with the ancillary of related topics: work, family, logistics, side effects, where will I search on the Internet to get information, and most importantly - how fast can I get home and cry?
A simple walk to the bathroom in the oncologist office takes one past the chemotherapy rooms. And all these thoughts embark on their hopefully, fruitless journey. And the hollow feeling in my stomach lurches awake. I don't look at these people; it would be rude. But I know there is a room full of people and nurses and equipment. And I think: There, but for the grace of God go I.
And when the visit is over, I sit in my car for a minute and try to think of the groceries I need to get before I go home. But it doesn't work. I close my eyes for a minute and let the feeling of gratitude wash over me.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Music
It's final. I'm going to have to stop listening to my country western station in the car. This morning on my way to work, the first song I heard was about beer. The second song I heard was about beer. The third song I heard was about, you guessed it, beer. The fourth song I heard was about following your arrow, and how when you get stressed, light a joint. And to round it off, the final song, before I turned into the parking lot at school, was Keith Urban's "Cop Car." For those of you that haven't heard this song it's about a guy who falls in love with a girl in the back of a cop car. Really? Have we sunk so far that no one can write a decent song? Maybe a song about something other than beer and getting arrested, and glorifying both?
I knew it going in. I admit it. I knew country western music was always about the sad life: the girl leaving the guy, the guy's dog dying and on and on. And don't get me wrong. There are still good songs out there. Patriotic songs, well written love stories, songs with beautiful instrumentals (I must say, as I get older I am being drawn to a well played acoustic guitar and even the new age banjo.) And these are why I started to listen to country western. I especially liked the fact that you can hear the music and I used to think it was a good thing that I could hear the words in the song. Now I'm not too sure that's a selling point for me.
Maybe I am not the target market for this genre of music. I am a 58 year old white woman from California. Most of the songs tend to focus on the young men of the world. The ones with little responsibilities and the time to spend a whole day drinking beer on the end of a pier or on a hill top overlooking their hometown or the ones that frequent bars. According to the country music lyrics, this population of young men must be the target market.
So this begs the question...why am I listening to it? The answer is simple. I cannot find, in my semi-rural area, a decent radio station that better caters to me. I used to listen to a modern rock station that I liked for quite a few years. And then someone came in and bought the station and the format changed. Not much, but enough for me to only like every third or fourth song. This was not worth my effort, so I switched.
One might say, "Well, get yourself an ipod and create your own music station." I have an ipod. I have downloaded hundreds of songs that I like: country western and rap, modern rock, golden oldies like the Beatles, Elvis, the Beach Boys. I play these songs in my class room as the students are writing or working on projects. But that doesn't give me the radio personalities. I enjoy the jokes, the little contests, the camaraderie of the DJ's. It makes my morning light and the drive to work less tedious.
What to do? What to do? I guess I'm either going to have to buck it up and succumb to my country western side or be satisfied with only one song out of four. Or, here's a thought...maybe I'll switch to a talk show. Hard to sing to but maybe I'll learn something. My brain will have to work. It's so early in the morning...heavy sigh...
I knew it going in. I admit it. I knew country western music was always about the sad life: the girl leaving the guy, the guy's dog dying and on and on. And don't get me wrong. There are still good songs out there. Patriotic songs, well written love stories, songs with beautiful instrumentals (I must say, as I get older I am being drawn to a well played acoustic guitar and even the new age banjo.) And these are why I started to listen to country western. I especially liked the fact that you can hear the music and I used to think it was a good thing that I could hear the words in the song. Now I'm not too sure that's a selling point for me.
Maybe I am not the target market for this genre of music. I am a 58 year old white woman from California. Most of the songs tend to focus on the young men of the world. The ones with little responsibilities and the time to spend a whole day drinking beer on the end of a pier or on a hill top overlooking their hometown or the ones that frequent bars. According to the country music lyrics, this population of young men must be the target market.
So this begs the question...why am I listening to it? The answer is simple. I cannot find, in my semi-rural area, a decent radio station that better caters to me. I used to listen to a modern rock station that I liked for quite a few years. And then someone came in and bought the station and the format changed. Not much, but enough for me to only like every third or fourth song. This was not worth my effort, so I switched.
One might say, "Well, get yourself an ipod and create your own music station." I have an ipod. I have downloaded hundreds of songs that I like: country western and rap, modern rock, golden oldies like the Beatles, Elvis, the Beach Boys. I play these songs in my class room as the students are writing or working on projects. But that doesn't give me the radio personalities. I enjoy the jokes, the little contests, the camaraderie of the DJ's. It makes my morning light and the drive to work less tedious.
What to do? What to do? I guess I'm either going to have to buck it up and succumb to my country western side or be satisfied with only one song out of four. Or, here's a thought...maybe I'll switch to a talk show. Hard to sing to but maybe I'll learn something. My brain will have to work. It's so early in the morning...heavy sigh...
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