Countdown LAST DAY!

It's true, it's true! Today is the last day Roger has to take four pills in the morning and four pills in the evening. Today this insane, fakakta medical/pharmaceutical intervention ends. We are absolutely, crazily giddy with excitement, and that's not bad for a 68 year-old cancer survivor and his 58-year old neurotic care-taking wife. WE DID IT. Let me rephrase that: WE FUCKING DID IT!

So, here's a photo we both agree is the photo to end this countdown. It's a tree we've passed many times on many walks out on the trail. It's a still-alive tree that's been struck by lightning. We know it's not really true that lightning only strikes once. But we also know, that even after it has struck, life goes on in the forests of the world.

Thank you from our deepest hearts for hanging in there with us.

roger's update-------------------

thanks for all the support. here's a song for the occasion.

this is the last time

Countdown Day 2: Flowers and Ice

I had a plan for this 14-day countdown. I saved a few photos and hoped to find a few more to cover the time I had promised to celebrate Roger's countdown to chemo freedom. I had thought today might be the day to post this photo I took a while back of these amazing shafts of light pouring into the yard between the sunrise and the oak.
But then two snowstorms plowed into us and changed everything. And, if that wasn't enough, we had two nights of very hard freezes.
Suddenly there were foot-long icicles hanging from every eave.
And our early-blooming camellias faced the cold breath of the north and became natural painted ice sculptures.
I'm sure images like these are fairly commonplace in more northern latitudes where severe winter storms are expected, but here it's been other-worldly and magical.

OMG! In addition to all of that, only two more days until Roger is finished with chemo!!! Can you hear us whooping and hollering already? We have a plan that involves a bottle of champagne sent to us by a fellow blogger and Facebook friend. I'm pretty sure on March 2nd we're popping the cork on that bottle. Care to join us in a toast?

PS: As of Sunday afternoon at 4:30, we still don't have power. Roger discovered that the power line from the transformer to our house is down. Uh-oh. Our little neighborhood was scheduled for a 5:00 pm reconnect to the bigger power grid, but it won't matter now until our little connection gets hooked back up. He also found the telephone line on the ground, but still connected (hence we still have our phone and dsl service). No telling when any of this will be repaired. Oy.

Countdown Day 3: A Purple Change of Pace

Well, we still don't have power. And from the sounds of it, it is going to be at least another day or two before the house is humming with electricity and all our little gadget lights are blazing 24/7. So now, the house is perfectly dark and incredibly serene at night without all the bright things that power brings with it. Interestingly, we don't miss that at all.
The snow has made us rearrange where we scatter seed on the ground for our little ground feeders. There are few spots, like under the big cedar tree and out in front of the house, where the ground is protected from major snow accumulation. The birds found it right away. Having them this close, I was able to see a couple of new birds hanging around. I am pretty sure these are Purple Finches. A lovely little finch that enjoys a smallish year-round range here along the Sierra foothills.

So, we've found some wonderful bright sides to this monster storm: getting to see a new bird among the daily visitors and enjoying the real deep darkness of night.

Roger is feeling better and has recovered from his cold. The work of keeping the house warm and the generator going has distracted him in a very good way from these last few days of chemo side effects. Oh, he's still feeling them, but he doesn't have time to think about it. Snowstorm therapy!

Countdown Day 4: Snowed In Without Power

Oh yes, when the weather forecaster predicted a monster snowstorm, they had it just right.
This is what the deck looked like Friday morning. Fifteen inches of light powder and still falling. We have no power, but are managing with the generator and woodstove.
All day we've been hearing the sound of snow-laden branches cracking and falling. It's a little bit unnerving. We are surrounded by very big trees. The top of one broke off and crashed on to the fence some time in the night.

I'm creating this post Friday morning with a post time of midnight... just in case we lose our ability to connect to the internet. We'll keep you posted, if and when we can.

Countdown Day 5: Another awe-inspiring moment of magic on Earth of the Milky Way

We found our blogging friend Jim Otterstrom's obituary in the local Big Bear newspaper. From the sound of it, he wrote it himself. Here is an excerpt.

"I do my best to make a full-time career of Earth/Life/Love worship. Like everyone I find sorrow and suffering amidst the joy of being human, yet, with the awareness that loss and transience measure our days, I live a charmed life treasuring the beauty in rare & fleeting moments – and wishing you good fortune in your moments – I propose a toast!

So here's to a human future! A world of symbiotic pluralism, where regardless of gender, race, species, or elemental content, all matter of evolutionary creation is perceived as sacred and sentient, valued for it's intrinsic worth as part of our living body, planet Earth. A time beyond the cultural homogenization of Global Imperialism, beyond the all-consuming Western model of rampant cancer-like growth. Where woman, by her native strength, generosity, and beauty, wields the power inherent to the role of mother, nurturer, lover – and where man aids community while tempering his bravado with humility, respect, and awareness. To heavenly bodies, spherical harmony, seasons, cycles, life, death, and renewal. And here's to today, another awe-inspiring moment of magic on Earth of the Milky Way. Cheers!"

Jim's memorial was last Sunday. Cheers and a sad farewell to our friend of the heart Jim.

Countdown Day 6: Almost Completely Black and White

This is what I saw when I looked down to the pond from the driveway on Saturday. If you look closely, you'll see the blue pump house and the little blue "bridge" over the little seasonal "creek." It's amazing how much a white sky over a snow-covered ground looks like a stark black and white photo. This is what it will probably look like on Thursday and Friday when a big storm blows in from Alaska and Canada. We think we're ready for what ever comes our way. We'll let you know.

Countdown Day 7: Bee Here Now

We went for a walk and found a bee embedded in ice. It was as dead as any dead creature we've ever seen. Even Roger said so, and he's not given to flights of fancy nor the romanticization every little living thing. He said, "That looks like a dead bee to me."

It was frozen in the snow on our very crunch-under-foot snowy road. I should have photographed it. I didn't. I did dig it out and hold in the palm of my hand while we walked home. I have always imagined that with a little warmth of the sun, these little dead things could be rejuvenated. Okay, I know that's utterly ridiculous, but I am the one given to flights of fancy in this marriage. It's a balance.

The bee didn't move on the walk home. But I held it gently and kept peeking at it to see if even my body warmth could stir it. And then suddenly, it moved. SERIOUSLY. One rear leg almost imperceptibly started to move just a bit. I thought at first it might have just been the wintry breeze when I opened my lightly closed fist to look at the bee in my palm. But no, it really moved again, and then again.

So I brought it in the house, put it on the lid of a plastic cream cheese container and then outside in the sun. The bee moved more and more. I added a few blades of something green to give it something to move toward. It responded with vigor. Then I gently put it on the ground. Soon it was gone.

The bee lives.

Roger is half way toward the absolute end of chemotherapy. Only seven more days to go. We continue to celebrate in the utter beauty of the planet.

Countdown Day 8: Angles of the Sun

Autumn
Winter

Shot eight weeks apart in the early morning light.

Countdown Day 9: Taking The Long Path

After storm and power outages, plenty of rain and snow, the sun finally came out. It had been a week since we'd gone for any kind of hike, and that long since we'd seen the sun. So, we put on our hiking boots and walked out the door to take a good long look around.
Funny how everything looks different in the snow, softer and gentler, yet so much harder to navigate. I actually wondered if it might have been easier if we'd been wearing cross-country skis. In most places ours were the only human footprints around. Plenty of animal tracks, though, to keep us guessing and amused.
I wanted to photograph Roger close to the same spot I had photographed him two weeks ago wearing his favorite Hawaiian shirt on a balmy 65 degree day. Hard to imagine that photo was shot February 6th and this one was February 20th. No complaints, though, we love the snow.
Shortly after snapping those few photos of Roger, we came upon this major impediment to our travels. Two trees had fallen across the trail, leaving a tangled 15 foot wide mess of impassable branches. So, we blazed a new trail (off to the left) through the snow-covered brambles and berry vines, only getting snagged a few times by relentless blood-thirsty thorns.
This reservoir was our destination. It's actually pretty close to home. We just like taking the long path to get there. It's more fun that way.

Roger is still congested and sneezing, but he sure loves the good healing vibes you send his way. Thanks for that, friends.

Countdown Day 10: Hummingbirds in Snow

Early in the morning, this guy clicks at us from the top of this branch. I say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah I hear you. No, I can't make it stop snowing. No, I don't want your food. No, I'm not your enemy." I repeat all these things, but he still clicks insistently.
This guy chases off all the other hummers that come anywhere near "his" feeder. They waste so much precious energy bossing each other around. Pity.

This guy surprises me with his swipe in the snow. Fierce, crazy little thing.

The sun came out and the snow lit up. Roger has a cold. We're glad there's only ten more days to go.

Countdown Day 11: Snowy Perspectives

Countdown Day 12: Not Like Snow

We watched a meadow-full of ripe cattail seeds rise up and drift lightly on a breezy, sunny afternoon in January. We remarked wistfully how much it reminded us of snow. It was so warm that day, we wondered if winter were already over for us, if we wouldn't see any more snow until next year.


Then we we watched it snowing all day Thursday and realized, wispy cattail seeds don't really look that much like snow after all. We're under a winter storm warning until 10 pm Friday. Already have six inches of soft powder on the ground. Oh yes, it's definitely still winter.

Countdown Day 13: Flyer Mergansers

...over the muddy Rollins Reservoir one day last month.

I saw an EB White quote on a friend's blog just the other day. It reminded me of everyday when we awaken: "I arise in the morning torn between a desire to save the world and a desire to savor the world. That makes it hard to plan the day."

Did I mention that I'm going to try and post a photo every day during Roger's last chemotherapy cycle? It's a celebration of joy and beauty all at once!

Countdown Day 14: Blue Plate Special

So begins our countdown. Here are Roger's 112 Xeloda pills. Four in the morning, four in the evening for the next 14 days. As they say, "Down the hatch..."

Spring For Valentine's Day

For all of our friends on Valentine's Day, especially those of you who have had a long and miserable winter, here are some photos of our early spring. Of course, we're expecting snow on Wednesday and three to five inches of rain by the end of the week. We don't mind. Spring is definitely in the air. We hope that is true for you as well.

Roger in a favorite Hawaiian shirt in early February.

The first Camellia bloom on February 11.

A baby robin out on the trail, February 13th.

Daffodils shooting up and already in bud, early February.

A California Tortoiseshell high up in a pine tree with the bluest mountain skies, February 13th.

Happy Valentine's Day from the bums!

A Few Words On A Wednesday

If you click on the photo, you'll see Roger in the kitchen doing the dishes. I love this perspective, how the eastern sky at sunset fills the rest of the photo, and Roger in the window. The entire sky in every direction was full of deep hued colors that evening. A clear winter sky. The other day a line from a Joni Mitchell song popped into my head. It was, "or me here least of all." So, I googled that and found the song "Refuge of the Road." The particular stanza goes like this:

In a highway service station
Over the month of June
Was a photograph of the earth
Taken coming back from the moon
And you couldn't see a city
On that marbled bowling ball
Or a forest or a highway
Or me here least of all...

Lately I've been looking at pictures of the Milky Way Galaxy and our solar system. I remember that I once read somewhere, long before the internet (can you imagine?) that it would be almost impossible to draw or paint a real perspective of the Milky Way and our little planet Earth, unless the canvas was as big as a football field. I liked that so much. Especially in the context of "me here least of all..."

Roger starts his week off from chemo today. On February 16th he starts the last two weeks. We are counting down the days.

How Much Like Venus...

...Jupiter looks. Except that it rises at sunset and is much harder to capture in the waning light, especially without a tripod.
Hand held look at the crescent moon.

We said hello to Jupiter today. That makes for a damn good day.

Wordless Wednesday: Bonsai Loves Fire

In other news, 28 days from today on March 2nd, Roger starts life without chemo. Countdown begins.

Countdown Day 5: Another Awe-Inspiring Moment of Magic on Earth of the Milky Way

We found our blogging friend Jim Otterstrom's obituary in the local Big Bear newspaper. and from the sound of it, he wrote it himself. Here is an excerpt.

"I find sorrow and suffering amidst the joy of being human, yet, with the awareness that loss and transience measure our days, I live a charmed life treasuring the beauty in rare & fleeting moments – and wishing you good fortune in your moments – I propose a toast!

So here's to a human future! A world of symbiotic pluralism, where regardless of gender, race, species, or elemental content, all matter of evolutionary creation is perceived as sacred and sentient, valued for it's intrinsic worth as part of our living body, planet Earth. A time beyond the cultural homogenization of Global Imperialism, beyond the all-consuming Western model of rampant cancer-like growth. Where woman, by her native strength, generosity, and beauty, wields the power inherent to the role of mother, nurturer, lover – and where man aids community while tempering his bravado with humility, respect, and awareness. To heavenly bodies, spherical harmony, seasons, cycles, life, death, and renewal. And here's to today, another awe-inspiring moment of magic on Earth of the Milky Way. Cheers!"

Jim's memorial was last Sunday. Cheers and a sad farewell to our good friend Jim.