I've been spending a bit o' time on Facebook, in particular updating an application called "Where I've Been."  The application takes all of the nations and cities you've visited in the world and calculates what percentage of the world you've seen.

I've been updating it bit by bit and have found the process to be extremely uplifting as I remember places I've been, people I've been with in those places, wonders I've seen, and more mundane moments that make places memorable.

Which leads to this Sunday's question:

I know it's hard to pick just one, but tell me a story about one of the top 10 places you've been in the world.  What made it so special?

I slept in this morning for the first time since the diagnosis.  THAT was heaven, indeed.  Dan and I passed a lazy Saturday morning filled with yummy food, email and facebook catching up on my part, and then we took a nice long walk at the local Aliso and Wood Canyons Park.  There were tons of families out, a couple of Girl Scout troops as well, so we had plenty of company on the four-mile, fairly flat hike.

I read an article in the LA Times this morning about the Chino Hills State Park, which recently burned over during the wildfires of the past few weeks.  I remember being devastated when a similar thing happened to Towsley Canyon in Santa Clarita where I hiked so often with my friends Lynne, Theresa and Connie. 

The first few times we went for a hike after the fire, I was overcome by sadness at the burned hills, the dead oaks, the blackened sticks thrusting from barren ground.  But as time went by, nature reasserted herself and the first evidence of that was the greening of the ground and then a miraculous profusion of leaves bursting from absolutely black oak tree branches. 

Ever since I took the photo above, the rebirth of Towsley Canyon has been a symbol to me of what is possible, how even the most hopeless situation can be redeemed.  I am sure that the folks who are currently mourning Chino Hills State Park will be overwhelmed with the beauty that blooms there this Spring.

After we finished our hike, Dan and I grabbed a quick bit to eat and then headed to Verizon where we outfitted me with a new Blackberry phone.  The idea is that I'll be spending a lot of time in offices and chemo rooms and this will be a much better option for texting and emailing than my beautiful, impractical Razor.

So now, in addition to figuring out Facebook, I'll have to figure out my new phone.  I suspect these will be nice distractions though in the coming days.  Lynne, Ken, Jessi and Erik Secrest are on their way here for a quick, just passing through, visit.  Looking forward to that and then a bit of feet up time.

There's the bell!

Thanks to my youngest godson, Chad, I've joined the wacky world of Facebook.  This means I've spent the better part of two days figuring out how to add applications, how to update my profile, what "wall to wall" means, and why so many people are engrossed by this social networking site.  My two-second take on the phenomenon is that it's the next generation of email...just as email took over from snail mail, social networking will take over from email.

The old obsession I've been toying with is reading.  For the first few days after my diagnosis, I couldn't read anything at all.  The words bounced off my brain and lay there on the page, dead.  Now, that the initial shock is over though, I'm beginning to read again.  Not that I've suddenly started reading the classics...no, I'm back to reading thrillers, cop stories and a new sci-fi tale given to me by Erik.  But it had been nice to be interested again, to lose myself for a few moments in another world.

Last, but not least, is poetry.  I've written poetry for as long as I can remember.  And one of the things I quickly decided the past week is that I want to write a poem a day for a while.  So that's what I've been doing.  Not editing, not rewriting (although those things will have to come) but writing a new poem every morning.  So far, I like two of the three very much.  And it's wonderful to be flexing those neurons again...the ones that make yellow leaps and fuse together words that clearly belong together but don't usually occupy the same space.

Other than these three obsessions, Dan and I enjoyed an invigorating walk today.  I watered the plants.  Took back my kitchen (by putting things where they belong <grin>).  And we hung out for three hours with my brother, Dennis, and his son Brian, daughter-in-law June, and our great nephew Avery and his sister Ainsley.  The kids played in the yard, happily dismantling the putting green, tossing the balls in the jacuzzi and throwing in some tub toys I'd bought a while back for Avery.  The adults watched the little ones while talking and snacking...truly a memorable day.

I read an inspiring opinion piece in the LA Times today, written by former
Wall Street Journal correspondent, current free-lance writer and homeless person, Les Gaspay.

He wrote about the shape of his life since he became homeless.  About the loneliness of estrangement from his family and the deprivations that come with living out of one's car.

And he also wrote, with grace and poetry, of the things he sees that few folks do.  Cranes, pelicans, constellations observed in solitude.  He speaks of a faith that has been deepened and broadened by his experience, by loss and even by anger.

I get that.  I've had some of my most productive and illuminating conversations with the Creator when I'm most angry and upset at him for what seem to be capricious or unjust events.  Our friend's trial and imprisonment come to mind.  The illness of another friend's son.  Times when I have turned to God demanding answers and gotten only the reminder that I am not in charge, I'm not God.  That I don't and I won't get the answers I demand in the time I want them. 

And hardest of all, but also most blessed, is that I'm not supposed to understand it.  I am simply to have faith, believe in God's goodness and witness the amazing ways we humans can take care of each other during times of extremity.

It's just Dan and I together this Thanksgiving.  We hadn't planned for things to work out that way but here we are in our quiet house, surrounded by music, post-rain clouds, birdsong and rich with love.  Rich too with the memories of Thanksgivings past...noisy kitchens, bursting tables, too many conversations to keep up with, smells of the turkey cooking growing until it climbed the stairs and literally filled the house.

We have a feast here this year.  May your Thanksgiving be likewise blessed and full.

I've posted a new poem in the Poetry section.  I'm trying to write a poem a day these days and I rather liked this one.  I stole the tempo and line break style from some recent poems of Mom's but the words are all mine.

It's called "Reading the Weather."  (Still not sure about the title.)

Enjoy!

Today is the first day I've read the newspaper since my diagnosis.  It felt good to be in touch with events outside my personal drama.  I was heartened by Obama's speech about scrutinizing the budget for cost savings.  I agree wholeheartedly with the folks that say he also needs to be addressing the issue of entitlements, which account for 54% of our federal budget.  I think it's good that he is sticking with the current Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates.

Two things from the news stuck in my craw a little bit though.  The first, Treasury Secretary Paulson's announcement of $800 billion more in federal aid designed to loosen up credit and get the engines of the economy rolling again.  I don't mind making it easier for small businesses to get credit in this environment.  I don't particularly mind the purchase of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac mortgage backed securities in order to give the agencies more money to lend.

But I do question the wisdom of pouring money into consumer credit markets.  Part of the reason we're in the state we are in, has to do with our national philosophy of "buy now, pay later."  If there was ever an opportunity to turn us from a nation of profligate spenders (who don't understand the connections between debt, interest rates and lack of personal freedom) into a nation of savers (who understand the freedom of purchasing what is needed for cash, what is wanted tomorrow and what is dreamed of after hard work)--well that opportunity is now.

For Paulson to focus on loosening consumer credit now is like Bush telling us it was our civic duty to go out and spend money after 9/11.

My second little rant-inducing article concerns a tradition between two elementary schools in Claremont, California.  For a number of years, these schools have re-enacted the classic myth of Thanksgiving by having the student body of one school dress up as Indians/Native Americans and having the other dress up as Pilgrims.  One school walks to the other where they re-enact the laying down of enmity and sharing of a feast.

It sounds like a lovely tradition to me. 

Even so, the mother of one of the students involved this year is a Native American.  The annual event bothered her because it seemed to tell a false story about America's treatment of Native Americans over the years and to encourage stereotypes through the use of costumes. 

"It's demeaning," Michelle Raheja, the mother of a kindergartner at Condit Elementary School, wrote to her daughter's teacher. "I'm sure you can appreciate the inappropriateness of asking children to dress up like slaves (and kind slave masters), or Jews (and friendly Nazis), or members of any other racial minority group who has struggled in our nation's history."

While I belive Raheja has a point, even a good point, that some members of a racial minority group might find this tradition offensive, I am not in agreement with the school board's decision to suspend the costumed aspect of the affair.

How much better would it be for the kids involved to have the event and to learn, in preparation or in debrief, that this is an idealized version of an isolated event in our history?  What harm would come from these kids putting on their costumes and then learning that our nation's treatment of the native people who made this country their home centuries before Europeans beached their boats on our shores was brutal, often dishonest and at times, shameful?

Isn't that a better "teachable moment" than one that makes a concerned descendant of a wronged people into an "elitist" and a spoiler; that makes other concerned parents into folks who would rather have a party than tell the truth?

The alternate title for this blog is "I better write this while I can!"  I'm taking the lovely and delicious concoction known as Movi Prep to clean out my insides so that I can have a colonoscopy tomorrow.  Normally, I wouldn't share that, but since it's to discover whether or not colon cancer is the source of my tumors, it's become blog worthy in the current context.

I've already had two friends vow to have their colonoscopies done due to my situation, so that makes me quite happy.  And a daughter's friend has promised to quit smoking.  Score another point for the good guys.

I continue to have some emotional ups and downs, as one would expect of anyone in this situation.  Today has been filled with some wonderful, peaceful moments as well.  Prayer with Shari.  Gorgeous clouds on the horizon as the weather changes.  Conversations with friends from coast to coast.

I spent some time journaling out on the patio this morning--wrapping my head around some differences of opinion between myself and some dear friends about our contrasting definitions of what it means to be passionate about God.  I came to peace once more with the knowledge that the Creator and I are on better terms than ever before in my life.  I released their opinions back to them while appreciating the spirit of their prayers for my personal spiritual revival.

One of the things I've had reaffirmed to me over the past 7 days...count 'em, 7...I went into the hospital a six days and 11 hours ago...is that the path I've been traveling due to various crises (a friend wrongly convicted of a serious crime, various health issues with beloved parents and family members, the long overdue resolution of traumatic events that occured when I was very young), has been preparation of sorts for this latest challenge.

My relationship with God when I was young was full of fire and conviction, it is true.  But like the strength I displayed in my younger years, it was also brittle, rule-bound, and shallow rooted.

The relationship I treasure with our Creator now is one that has been tempered in the crucible of unfair and inexplicable losses; one that has been affirmed in the darkest, most surreal moments of real life; one that has been given to me so graciously and freely by a God who (as Todd said) loves me and wants me to be happy and yet, in the paradox that infuses the juxtaposition of human and divine, is also one that I've had to wrest from the ashes when it seemed like God doesn't really care at all.

I couldn't walk this path without my husband.  I couldn't face the climb without my family.  I wouldn't have the strength to contemplate tomorrow without my friends.  And without my creator, I'd have no reason to hope in either the journey or the outcome.

I am truly blessed to have all of these folks, from God to husband, from family who are friends to friends who are family, all of them on "team Laura."

About 12 years ago, I was walking in Old Town Pasadena with Dan.  He turned a corner or poked his head into a shop and so I was alone for a few moments.  A woman with a baby stroller (and an adorable toddler in the stroller) walked up to me with a bemused expression on her face.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said.  I think she took my arm and went on to say, "You have the most amazing aura surrounding you.  I would love to do a reading for you."

I thanked her but told her I'm not really big into "that sort of thing."

She looked a bit surprised (I guess people with amazing auras should be open to aura readings), and quickly assured me that she didn't want to charge me...she just wanted to do the reading.  She also said something that's a bit fuzzy in my memory, but it had to do with "good news."

I shook my head and said no thanks, going on my way as Dan joined up with me.  I don't think the woman was happy with my decision but I've often wondered what it is she saw and what it is she would have "read" from the spiritual emanation she perceived.  I remain fairly skeptical about such things although I'm less dogmatic about my religious beliefs than I was back then.

For some reason, that memory has come back to me since the diagnosis.  I suppose it could be grasping at straws, but it feels more like an affirmation of the peace I've been occasionally suffused with as we (Dan and I) wander this ill-marked path into the unknown.

Difficulties will abound, I am sure.  Frustrations, moments of hopelessness and tears aplenty.  But I am also sure that good things are coming in at least equal measure. 

It occurs to me that what the woman saw had very little to do with me and very much to do with the love and support, the humor and deep, abiding affection I enjoy from my friends and my family.  Surrounding me.  Infusing me with strength for the journey.

I don't need a reading to tell me about that.  It's here, right now.

Thank you.

I've learned quite a bit this week (and had a lot of things I knew confirmed in spades).  Here are the new things I learned this week:

1.  I have cancer.

2.  How to say, "I have cancer."  (In future, I'll probably choose Candy's words--Candy is my survivor/sister-in-law--who says "I'm fighting cancer.")

3.  I am not alone.  There will be 1.4 million new cases of cancer diagnosed in 2008.

Things I already knew but were confirmed this week:

1.  I have the most amazing husband in the world.

2.  My family and friends stand ready to walk the steep path ahead--at my side, occasionally carrying me, letting me lead the way alone when I have to.

3.  God sends beauty and peace into the darkest of corners, the grimmest moments of fear and doubt, the loneliest places we can imagine.

Which leads to the Sunday question: 

What did you learn (or have confirmed) this week?

Dad and his friend, John, play golf together every Tuesday and Thursday. They like to get out early.  I think I've overheard John say that the reason for this is that if you have a lousy game, there's still most of a day to turn things around. 

Since I'd stayed over to play golf with Dad, John, and my brother, Dean, this morning--I found myself being roused from sleep by a tap on the door at 5:07 a.m.  I've long since discovered that even though I don't enjoy getting up early, there are certain things that make it more than worthwhile.  Golf with Dad, John and Dean definitely qualifies as "worth it."

When we got to the course, there were only two other cars in the parking lot.  Die hards, too, no doubt.  We were quickly joined by Dean and John, teeing off at about 6:15 a.m.

The round didn't start well for me.  I shot a six on the first hole (these are all par 3's) and a five on the second.  Pretty much, I averaged 5 per hole from there until the 7th hole.  Then things started to slowly pull together and by the back 9, I had three pars in a row at one point.

I was glad that Moira never showed up during the bad holes.  I suspect that her no-show was due to some self-talk prior to the game where I figured out my goals (enjoy time with men I love, practice my game...which it's needed a lot of lately).

We had a very enjoyable round...everyone had shots that were great and everyone had shots that were less than stellar.  But as Dad pointed out, only one of us got a birdie.

Congrats, Dad!