Sunday, July 12, 2009

The tent comes down

The tent is in tatters. I'd been meaning to take it down for some long while now, but somehow could not bring myself to do it. By the way, everything it says in the tent user manual, about prolonged sunlight breaking down tent material, is true. The rain fly is completely shredded, and the tent itself is tearing:



I think part of my inability to take it down stemmed from not knowing what I would do with it once I did. I thought of burying it, like an old holy book. In Judaism, anything that contains G-d's name is not supposed to be destroyed. I just did not know what to do, so I ignored the tent day after day, week after week.




Finally today I went out on the roof with the intention of saying a brief prayer inside the tent and then taking it down. The moment I got into the tent, I felt that wonderful "inside the tent" vibe, and I was nostalgic for the time I spent up here in the first few weeks of my recovery. I didn't know what I wanted to daven, so I just opened my prayer book at random, and this is what I read: "Ivdu et adonai b'simcha, bo'u l'fanav b'rinanah" . . . serve G-d with joy, come into her presence with singing. Know that Adonai is G-d, it is he who made us and we are his. His people and the sheep of his pasture. Enter her gates with thanks, her courtyards with praise . . . . "
(psalm 100)

I disassembled the tent carefully, but the fabric was coming apart in my hands no matter how gently I handled it. Finally it was all taken down; I turned and sat down on the foam pad that had once been part of the tent's furnishings. I looked at the empty space where the tent had been for so long. It was a shocking sight and I began to cry. This had been hamakom, the place, the cleft in the rock. I said the kaddish for completion. Completing what? Commencing what?





Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Stretching



Robin, my amazing physical therapist, asked me if I had a T-shaped object about 18" long, that I could use for certain arm stretches she is teaching me.I did have the perfect thing--my ice axe.
It might seem weird or dangerous to stretch with an ice axe, but it works quite well, and I get two side benefits from using it. One is that I always practice self-arrest* with it after I'm finished stretching. I've been careful and so far have not punctured my quilt or pillows ;-) Two, it lifts my spirits to be using my ice axe, even if it is July and I am here at 30 feet, max, above sea level.
*self-arrest: techniques for arresting a fall down a steep snow or ice slope, basically involving falling or flipping over onto your ice axe in such a way as to drive the spiky part into the snow.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Coming to Grips

(photo credit: Bruno)



This is what the well-dressed breast cancer-surviving gardener is wearing this year. The gloves are to protect me against an injury that might trigger the onset of lymphedema.

It is the week of tiferet--beauty, harmony, a balance of gevurah and chesed. Some commentators I read equate tiferet with the beautiful and intricate weaving of our lives. In any given moment, things could seem terrible or wonderful. We do not see the big picture. And the holy one of blessing is always there whether we get what's going on or not. Yesterday, netzach in tiferet, a time to look to the future, to hope that all will be in balance, harmony, and beauty. Today, hod in tiferet, a time to be grateful for the crazy-beautiful complexity of life.




Tuesday, March 31, 2009

A Tent City of Two

. . . on a special field trip for my birthday. Havdalah is especially nice in the woods.


Thursday, February 26, 2009

Winnipeg

(Winnipeg Fashion Statement)

I arrived in Winnipeg yesterday after two uneventful flights. No metal detector alarms went off as I passed through security, and it felt most excellent to be in motion again, striding across an airport terminal with a backpack slung over my shoulder.

Winnipeg is . . . cold, which is . . . wonderful. I felt it as soon as we landed. The plane had been a little too warm during the flight, but as we landed, the air system must have been shut off. Almost immediately, the cold penetrated the fuselage and started to cool the air in the cabin. It felt like some cool and beneficial aura touching my body.

Here are the charms of Winnipeg that I have sampled thus far: Temperatures of -25C in the daytime, Standard Lager, a Canadian health food called poutine, curling championships, Prairie Harvest bakery challah, skating on the Assiniboine River, and an amazing roots band called Oh My Darling (http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=352850779).

Looking forward to Max's recital tomorrow.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

The tent stays up

Wow, it is so peaceful up here right now. It's hard to imagine that this lovely tent was pitching wildly all night, and hanging off the edge of the roof most of the time. I tried to rig another tie-down point for it, and I'm hoping the winds will be quieter. Meanwhile I'm up here taking in the rays of sunset through the trees and rooftops of my neighborhood. I came close to taking the tent down today, but I couldn't bear to do it.

It says in this week's Torah portion, "va'asu li mikdash veshachanti b'tochaam." Make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell among you.

It's not as though I need to be in the tent to feel the presence of the holy one of blessing. I also don't think it is necessary to make a precisely constructed shrine (which is what the rest of this Torah portion, Terumah, is concerned with). I think of "va'asu li mikdash" as making space, first and foremost. Physical space and mental space. Pushing aside or taking away some of the stuff that makes us crowded, and creating an expanse. Feeling open and relaxed in our bodies.

For me, the charm of the tent is how it is so "outside"--outside the house, outside of the normal dwelling space, outside of the expected. It makes it easier to create the mental space.

I am leaving tomorrow to visit my brother in Winnipeg. He just called me. I gave him the tent weather report, and he gave me the Winnipeg weather report: highs ranging from -7 F to a balmy 5 degrees F. This filled me with glee. I will need to get out all my big fleecy stuff, my hand warmers and my mountaineering socks. And snow seal my boots. Yippeee!!

I went to yoga class today for the first time since my surgery. I've just finished the first phase of my reconstruction, and I'm a little asymmetrical, but I wore my skimpy yoga top anyway. This is my body and I'm going to be comfortable in it. "Va'asu li mikdash."

I have to go and complete my packing. The next post will be from Winnipeg!

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Mishpatim

A post from inside the tent! Yes, it is nighttime and it is cold! Here is what I have in here with me: a head lamp, the laptop, a mug of coffee, some chocolate covered raisins, "Rabbi Nachman's Stories" translated by Aryeh Kaplan, and my secret weapon: two nalgene bottles filled with hot water. This was something I learned in a winter camping workshop I took a few years ago. You think, there is no heat in my tent . . . but you have a water bottle . . . and water . . . and a stove--voila! you fill your water bottle with boiling water and tuck it into the bottom of your sleeping bag.

I was going to go on about this winter camping workshop and tell the story of how I came to really understand hypothermia by getting hypothermia. As I get ready to return to work, I'm trying to integrate my breast cancer experience in the same way. This sort of reminds me of this week's Torah portion, Mishpatim.

This portion contains one of my absolutely favorite lines in the Torah. It is about Moses, Aaron, Nadav, Avihu, and seventy elders of Israel. They all go up on the mountain. They all see G-d. Now in last week's portion, the Israelites were instructed not to even touch the mountain, because getting too close to G-d might kill them. But in this case, all of these people saw G-d and remained alive. Thus my favorite line: "They saw God, and ate and drank."

I'm feeling a little like that now. Getting a little too close to the mystery for comfort . . . then putting on the coffeepot in the morning and having breakfast :-)

Monday, February 16, 2009

Guts

I would like to know what this woman has that I don't. And whatever that is, I would like her to bottle some and send it to me.

This awesome, beautiful woman is Ruth Bader Ginsburg. How beautiful? Check it out:


Chickies, this is a picture of her fighting for our rights in the Women's Law Project of the ACLU, which she founded.

Justice Ginsburg was being confirmed the week I brought Leah home from the hospital. It was then that I decided Leah was going to be a Supreme Court Justice. Note to Leah if you are reading this: Only a suggestion!!!

Justice Ginsburg has just had one of the most major cancer surgeries known to medical science, for one of the most dreaded cancers known to medical science.

She is going to be back at work on Monday.

I, on the other hand, am not back at work, although I'm starting to feel stronger. Yesterday I did my first push-up, and today I climbed on the monkey bars in the park with Bruno. I may go back to my yoga class soon. But emotionally things are still a little unpredictable. I'm fine one moment and in a tailspin the next. Like tonight when I realized that the little magnetic port in my tissue expander is going to set off the airport metal detector when I fly to Winnipeg next week. Luckily, TSA agents are no longer the hulking goons that they used to be. Even so, the thought of having to explain my situation to one of them is making me crazy.

I was thinking I need more guts than I currently have. Either that or a cool frilly collar like Ruth Bader Ginsburg is wearing in her picture. Although, come to think of it, if she worked so hard for women's equality, it's not clear to me why she should have to wear some girly thing on the bench. But whatever--it seems to be working for her. I'm trying to learn from her example.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Yitro

This week's Torah portion, Yitro, contains the first iteration of the Ten Commandments in all of its smoky, thundering Cecil B. DeMille Technicolor glory.

However, this is not the part of the story I gravitate to. Maybe it's just a little too over the top for me. What I do love to read about is Yitro--Jethro himself, the Midianite priest and father-in-law of Moses.

Jethro shows up just before the revelation at Sinai. Moshe Rabbeinu is about to go up the mountain and get all the Torah--written and oral--and bring it down to the people. And boy is he tired. He has been leading this mixed multitude single-handed, and it's been a little like herding cats. Jethro sees Moses adjudicating all the people's complaints from morning until night. People are lined up around the block waiting for Moses to settle their disputes, provide manna recipes, check their sheep for fleas, and so on.

Jethro observes this and speaks to Moses lovingly and with authority. "What are you doing? You are going to wear yourself out. This is not going to benefit you OR your people! Furthermore, G-d commands you to take a break. Here is a plan for delegating your responsibilities to others."

I was thinking that everyone should have someone like Jethro in his or her family.

Right on cue, my daughter Leah came downstairs and told me to go to bed. "But I'm teaching Torah study in the morning! I have to study!" Leah: "Well, your studying isn't going to do you a lot of good if you can't wake up tomorrow morning. Don't make me worry about you!"



Earlier in the evening this same child advised me it was inadvisable to get into my tent in the dark, but if I truly wanted a picture to prove to everyone that the tent DID NOT blow off the roof, she would come upstairs and photograph me in it. And she told me a ridiculous joke that made me laugh hysterically--giving her one up on Jethro, because I don't think chicken crossing the road jokes were invented until after his time ;-)

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Tent in Trouble

This wind seriously wants my tent.

I'm just watching from the window and hoping for the best. The tent is being flung from side to side, and I can see that the contents I left neatly folded inside are now in a jumble on the floor. I don't think it will actually blow off the roof, but its fabric or poles might get shredded. I can't really do anything with it until the wind dies down.

It's kind of like a scene from "K2" ;-) and yes, that is as close as I'm ever getting to K2.

Fear

Above is the current state of the tent. A strong wind is trying to pick it up and blow it off the roof. Of the many things that are demonstrably much more likely to kill me sooner than this cancer, fear of the cancer tops the list. A close second would be trying to get in, or near, the tent when the wind is like this.

The tent did blow off the roof once, a few days after I set it up for the first time. I had completely underestimated the amount of weight I needed to keep it in place. (For those who aspire to roof tent-dwelling: it seems 150 lbs of sand is a good amount . . . so far.) I was too lazy to take it apart and carry it up the steps, so I attached a rope to it and pulled it back up onto the roof. It was one of those collossally stupid moments, which fortunately I did not pay for with my life. I was standing on the edge of the roof, pulling on this giant sail-like thing. Just after I got it up over the edge of the roof, the wind picked up, and it started to pick up the tent and me. I had tied in the rope to a heavy shelving unit inside the house, so I just let go of the tent and sat down, with my back plastered against the side of the house, trying to think heavy thoughts. Yes, it isn't just the mph of the wind vs the weight in the tent--it is the fact that the tent harnesses wind power like a sail.

I've been experiencing a lot of fear over the past few days. It's amazing how quickly the elation over my pathology results gave way to this all-consuming anxiety. I've been thinking about states of mind that trump fear. One that keeps coming up for me recently is curiosity. I think perhaps because President Obama mentioned it in his inaugural address. It seemed quirky in a really good way. Not just those cliche qualities like hard work and patience and gratitude. Curiosity. Instead of being afraid, just saying, wow, my life is so amazingly complex. I wonder what is going to happen next?

Stupidity is another one--I keep picturing myself standing at the edge of the roof, holding on to the Wind Kite Tent of Death, completely fearless ;-) but I don't think that's the look I'm going for.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Tree of Life




This post has been incubating in my brain for a few busy, happy days, and it turns out that tonight is the perfect time to post it, so . . . . perfect.


The image above is a depiction of the kabbalistic Tree of Life, the tree of sefirot. If I wrote down everything I understand about the kabbalistic Tree of Life, this would be an extremely short post! But tonight is the New Year of the Trees, so I feel entitled, and here it is.


In a simplistic sense, each circle on the diagram represents a kind of motivating life force or energy. I first encountered the sefirot by counting the omer, a meditative practice of counting the days between Passover and Shavuot. There are seven weeks between the holidays--seven weeks times seven days--and there is a structured way of meditating on seven of the sefirot during this time. Each week is dedicated to a particular sefirah. For example, the first week is the week of Chesed or lovingkindness. Then, each day of the week also has its sefira. The first day of the week is Chesed, the second Gevurah (strength), the third is Tiferet (beauty, balance), and so on.


Here's the cool part: Each day the weekly sefirah is played off against the daily one. So the meditation of the first day is lovingkindness within lovingkindness. The second is strength within lovingkindness. The third is beauty within lovingkindness.


It's simpler to say this than to really know what it means. I so thoroughly didn't know what it meant that I employed very concrete means to try to envision it. One year I assigned each sefirah a color, and scribbled the proper combination together each night with colored pencils.


I remember the first year I counted the omer. The first night was easy--lovingkindness within lovingkindness. Loving energy naturally creates more love. Cel mai simplu.


Then I got to the second night, gevurah sheb'chesed, strength within lovingkindness. Gevurah connotes not only strength, but boundaries, discipline, rejection. These sefirot are also imagined as parts of the body. Chesed is the right arm, drawing things closer in love. Gevurah is the left arm, and it is like a shield, strong, rigid, pushing things away. I thought about this interaction for a long time.


There are many ways in which I have experienced breast cancer as a loss of power. Mainly, it took away my illusion that I was a person who didn't have breast cancer. Breast cancer was something I had feared my entire adult life. When it happened, I kept trying to ward it off. I didn't want to hear about breast cancer organizations and support groups. I was going to get through it in a state of adaptive denial.


Here's the moment when that changed: I had had the mastectomy and I was lying in my hospital bed. I noticed the sign taped to the wall behind me: "No IV's, Blood Draws, or BP in Left Arm." For some inexplicable reason, this sign made me feel better, even good. I think I was relieved to have the surgery behind me. I was still uncertain about the future. One thing was clear, though: I had joined the warrior women. The sign was the badge of courage.


Last year, I tried to get at gevurah sheb'chesed by holding my left arm in my right arm. The thought that came up for me at that time was that even someone very strong needs to be held. Although I had thought a lot about the fact that the cancer was on my left/gevurah side, I had forgotten this detail from last year's omer count. I came across it when I was looking back in my journal a few days ago, and it startled me. This was exactly the motion I had been doing for days, cradling my left arm in my right arm because the left arm was so weak and I was not supposed to use it.


I don't know exactly what this means, but I feel very lucky. This week has really been like the crossing of the sea for me. My pathology reports came back good, which means I can focus on recovery now. Which means rebuilding my gevurah from the ground up, in my muscles and everywhere else.


So I'm headed up to the tent--I've been trying to get there all day, but the night is going to be a perfectly fine time to be there as well. There is the beautiful festival moon of Tu B'Shevat, the New Year of the Trees. Something else I only faintly understand, but in my usual concrete way, I think if I eat fruits and nuts and contemplate the Tree of Life, I've got it covered.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Current Conditions

I looked up and saw my tent




the weight of the snow was threatening to crush it!







so I dusted it off




and did the best I could with the snow.

Monday, February 2, 2009

A blog from inside the tent!!

13:17
When Pharaoh let the people leave, God did not lead them along the Philistine Highway, although it was the shorter route. God's consideration was that if the people encountered armed resistance, they would lose heart and return to Egypt.
13:18
God therefore made the people take a roundabout path, by way of the desert to the Red Sea. The Israelites were well prepared when they left Egypt.
13:19
Moses took Joseph's remains with him. Joseph had bound the Israelites by an oath: 'God will grant you special providence, and you must then bring my remains out of here with you.'
13:20
[The Israelites] moved on from Sukkoth, and they camped in Etham, at the edge of the desert.
13:21
God went before them by day in a pillar of cloud, to guide them along the way, and at night in a pillar of fire, illuminating their travel day and night.
13:22
The pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire at night never left from in front of the people.


(This is the beginning of this week's Torah reading, parashat Beshalach).


Truly, people, I meant to begin with the TENT! I am so excited to be out here, and just pleasantly surprised that my weakish wireless internet is reaching through all the 100+ year old horsehair plaster walls of my house and getting to the roof. I am here, very comfortable, even a little too warm, I just unzipped my window ;-)


But the Torah reading had such powerful resonance for me that I thought I would include it.


Getting out here is a little like going on a trip. I think that is why I like it so much. So here is what I have with me in the tent: my laptop (obviously), a sleeping bag, pad, and pillow, a thermos of coffee (double obviously), my tallit, my beloved yedid nefesh siddur, three clementines, two dark chocolate squares, and half a corn muffin. I did have the other half of the corn muffin and a swiss cheese sandwich made on my father's AMAZING bread, but I ate them already ;-)


and some books and a pen and notebook. at the present time, a perceptive gift from a friend, Leonard Cohen's Book of Mercy; Five Cities of Refuge; and a small three volume Pirke Avot.


Very big alpha waves are emanating from the second floor rear roof of 146 Simpson Road. The Israelites were well-prepared when they left Egypt.


It was not as difficult as I thought for me to get out here. Because it generally involves climbing out a third floor window and ever so slightly dropping down onto a second floor rooftop, I thought I would need assistance after my surgery. I had been warned to guard my new breast, this breast-in-progress, very carefully, and not to push, pull, or lift with my left arm.


It turned out not to be difficult, I think as a result of a yoga class I attended last month with a wonderful teacher named Aly. I basically walked into her class and said, I am having a mastectomy in a month, do you mind if I start learning some yoga with you? And by the way, I am in an extremely fragile state of mind about my body. Aly did not even blink. She taught me yoga with a spirit of compassionate encouragement. As a result, I have plenty of strength in my core and legs, and can climb in and out with very little involvement of my upper body.


But to return to the question of "What am I doing out here?"


Actually, what I quoted above is not the most well-known part of parashat Beshalach. The story that everyone--EVERYONE, thanks to Charlton Heston--knows, is the story of the parting of the Red Sea.


Pharaoh and his army come storming up in their chariots and the Israelites are scared to death. Moses says three things: Do not be afraid. Stand where you are. See G-d's rescue, which will be accomplished for you today.


Lawrence Kushner has a very interesting drash on this in "Five Cities of Refuge." I'll just quote a bit of it, the book itself is worth having.


"The Hasidic master Dov Baer of Mezritch teaches that there is a place, an order of being, called Ayin, Nothingness, through which anyone (or anything) must pass before it can become something new. Just a split second after it is no longer what it was but before it is what it would become. This is a place of great terror. When you enter the Nothingness, there can be no guarantees. All bets are off. You could become anything--or remain nothing, forever . . . .

You want to know what happened at the sea? I'll tell you. The waters didn't literally split. The people all walked into the sea and drowned. Then they all walked up onto the opposite shore, reborn into free men and women. Into the Ayin . . . "

(Kushner and Mamet, Five Cities of Refuge, Schocken Books 2003, pages 56-57. I'm not sure how much like a term paper a blog is supposed to be ;-)


The breeze is rustling the ancient nylon sides of this tent and sunlight is streaming in . . . there are two blue sides, some sunlight; two white sides, more sunlight; and then all of the holes in the roof--cel mai sunlight. I think it is time for me to take a nap.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat shalom everyone, I am trying to have quiet, grateful, shabbat thoughts, me and my extra soul (as I am sure everyone knows, one gets a second soul on shabbat . . . ). So I will wait until after shabbat to bemoan the utter lack of stylish post-mastectomy bras anywhere in the universe. I will hold back my observation that most of these things look like they should be hanging in Nurse Ratchet's closet. I will restrain myself from asking that most obvious question of the lingerie industry: "Haven't you people ever heard of paisley?" No, none of this will I comment upon on this holy day of rest. I'm serious, I am signing off my email and I am going to go and read some midrash.

But before I go, since I have few original thoughts at this point, I wanted to quote this--it is from a book called "Seven Summits," and it is the account of Junko Tabei, the first woman to climb Mt. Everest. She organized an all-woman climbing team. This was in the early 1970's.

" . . . we asked around, "Wouldn't you like to join us in an ascent of Mount Everest?"

Most of the women exclaimed, "It's a wonderful idea to go to the Himalayas. I want to see Mount Everest once in my life!" Then they continued by saying, "I wish to go, however, I do not have the climbing skills, physical strength, or money." This was the most common response amoung the women I surveyed. Of course you need physical strength and climbing skills for Himalayan climbing, but there are other essential factors, including an extremely strong desire to keep going whatever happens and the mentality to find a way out when you get into the deepest kinds of trouble."

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Current conditions in the tent


[Rabbi Akiva] used to say: Everything is given on collateral, and a net is spread over all the living."
Pirke Avot 3:20
"A net"--the plain meaning of this seems to be mortality. We living beings may go about our daily lives as if we were free, but we have no control over the inevitability of death.
This was my thought as I was falling asleep last night. Then I pictured the net, spread out over everyone, and it seemed more like a network. A web of interrelatedness. Living beings expending energy in ways that connected them to other living beings. A net made of lovingkindness, people reaching out to each other.
I realized it's all the same net. We live in the realm of khesed, the realm of human limitations and fragility. Our mutual vulnerability underlies the compassion we feel for each other. It is the same net. I think I see this so clearly because I have had an incomparable network of support. In the past few months, there have been times when I have felt terrified, horrified, traumatized, agonized . . . but I have never felt alone.
I will be away from the blog for a few days while I recover from surgery. Then, someone in my net is going to help me get back into this tent so I can blog some more ;-)

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Inauguration Day

Well, I let my daughter cut two midterm exams today. Oh, what an irresponsible mother I am! (tee hee) I just got a text message from her. She has arrived in Washington and is ready to celebrate the inauguration of President Obama!

Sunday, January 18, 2009

The Pinnacle, 18 January 2009



I decided to undergo a little "trail therapy" today. I went to the Pinnacle, a nice climb up some rocks with a view. The last time I hiked here, it was summer, and I encountered a large rattlesnake just a few feet from where this picture was taken. Fortunately, today Senor Rattlesnake was taking that long winter nap under a rock somewhere.

I was sort of puzzling over which route I would take. There are a couple of different trails to the Pinnacle that leave from about the same place. I walked up the access road from the parking lot and encountered a large sign, which said, in big letters, "APPALACHIAN TRAIL." On the right side of the sign was the letter "N" and it said, "Pinnacle, 4 miles. Katahdin, 965.2 miles." Like the answer to so many of life's questions, the answer to which route I should take was, "DUH!!!!"

When I through-hiked the Appalachian Trail in 1991, there was this ubiquitous trail personality named Wingfoot, one of those people who had hiked the entire trail several times and just could not seem to leave it. He would hang around with different groups of hikers and dispense his priceless words of trail wisdom. Many times I heard him say that the trail hike was a "touchstone experience." "You will return to the memory of your hike throughout your life." At the time I was too young and too untouched to have even the faintest idea what he meant. And Wingfoot was SOOO pompous. But he was right. When I am in a tough spot, I gravitate towards those white blazes.

A few days before my first surgery, I hiked the AT in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I was with someone who loved me enough to accompany me to any place I wanted to go. Someone who hadn't yet realized that, more often than not, those places fall into the category of "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." When I say that we ended up climbing DOWN the Webster Cliff Trail . . . in the DARK, those unfamiliar with the trail might say, "how lovely." Those familiar with the trail would say "Were you OUT of your MIND?!" (they might also add, "If that person who was with you stayed with you after this experience, he is an extraordinarily brave and loving human being" . . . and they would be right).

Finding the trail down in the dark took a great deal of focus and concentration. It drove the fear of the cancer out of my mind. I could see the path, because the flat, trodden-down areas are a little more reflective than the surrounding forest floor. I was looking down for this subtle brightness. Every so often there would be a white blaze on a tree, which told me I had not strayed from the trail. I began to slap each blaze with my palm when I saw it. Who knew the trail was going to come to my rescue in so many ways?

Today I followed a bright path in the snow with a lot of joy. I only got as far as Pulpit Rock, where two lovely people named Tom and Kristi took my picture. I sat down on my pack and had some hot coffee and a snack, and contemplated the universe. On the way down, there were all these beautiful hike in the snow endorphins bathing my brain. I forgot to be scared. I forgot to think that any part of me might not be healthy.

Saturday, January 17, 2009


יסתרני בסתר אהלו . . . בצור ירממני
He will conceal me in the hidden places of His tent . . . She will lift me upon a rock.

Asserting the firm belief that, a) just because I have breast cancer does not mean I should feel as though I am living in a soap opera, and b) (of course) the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, I am doing the only logical thing: spending some time in my tent . . . on the roof of my house.

What am I doing up here? Well . . . davening, for one thing. This roof is the place where I discovered my daily(ish) prayer practice about 10 months ago. In the beginning, I sat on an old foam boogie board and wore a blanket wrapped around my tallit when necessary. When it got cold . . . and I realized I had cancer . . . I knew I needed a place, a makom, some shelter that would enable me to continue to come out here. I had this old, old tent (it is getting older by the minute, being battered by the winter winds), so I set it up on the roof and anchored it with sandbags.

"The intuitive mind is a sacred gift, the rational mind is a faithful servant" (Albert Einstein). I'm trying not to lose these or any other part of my mind, although some days this seems to be an uphill battle. I'm taking the "kitchen sink" approach--all of the usual coping strategies, plus the tent, plus this blog. I'm not promising that I'll post often, or even ever again ;-)