Or is it negativist?
I'm not sure about this. I guess I'm a little of both, some days optimistic and some days negative.
One thing's for sure, though. I am definitely cockeyed.
I had the Mohs procedure in Boston on Wednesday, and, although it was successful, it was more complicated than I expected. The surgeon took what they call two "passes," meaning he removed a layer of the cancerous tissue (squamous cell) under my eye and then repeated the procedure because he didn't get all of it the first time.
After he had numbed up the area around my eye and removed the tissue, I waited about 45 minutes so he could see if he had gotten all of it. Most people sit in the waiting room, but since I needed to have my head back, I waited in the chair. That really wasn't so bad. I just took a nap.
When he came back in, he said some was still left, so he repeated the process again. After the second round, he said that he had gotten it all. One of the nurses told me it can take up to five passes, so I guess I did pretty well.
Next I went upstairs in the same building to the repair shop, where I got into a room quickly and then proceeded to wait there for an hour and a half.
When the doctor finally came in, she numbed up the area all around my eye with multiple injections, the only part of the procedure that hurt.
She handed me a mirror so I could see the little hole right under my tear duct. Yup, it was a hole alright.
The repair involved taking a skin graft from under my eyebrow and stitching it over the hole.
"You're getting a free eye-lift," the doctor joked as she worked.
Excuse me? On one eye?
Afraid to move my head, I didn't want to talk, but I did have to ask if that would end up looking a little strange.
She said that it wouldn't make that much of a difference, but we could reevaluate it when I healed.
So does insurance pay for an eye lift to balance you out? Just wondering.
She also put a stent in to open up my tear duct, which the surgeon had apparently needed to slice. She finished by sewing a piece of cotton called a ballast over the graft and onto my skin. I go back next week to have the ballast removed.
What with the wad of cotton, the stitches under my eyebrow and the overall swelling, it is not a pretty picture.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Chased out by crazy storm
I am writing this from a warm house (my sister's, in Newton), which is more than many people in parts of the Northeast, including South Hadley, can say after the crazy snowstorm that ended in at least 2.3 million people losing power.
As the snow fell and winds gusted Saturday, the trees practically groaned under the weight of accumulation on all the leaves that had not fallen. There were crashes and loud thumps. The microwave light went on and off, on and off. I peered out at all the trees surrounding the house and thought this might be the end of me. Then came the thunder and lightening. I looked it up and learned this is a rare occurrence called thunder snow. It sounds kind of poetic on paper, but in reality it is just plain weird.
The lights went out after I had gotten into bed with a book Saturday. The power has still not come back, which means no heat, no nothing. The house escaped damage, but there is a chunk out of the front of the garage roof and a hole in it from where a tree fell through.
Sunday night I slept at my friend Mary's in Chicopee, one of the communities that did not lose power. Last night I slept at Diane's; I was going to come here anyway because she is taking me for the Mohs surgery on Wednesday.
Joe drove me here, through streets strewn with fallen branches. We got stuck behind a line of cars that we thought were waiting to turn at a light, until we finally realized these people were waiting for gas and we needed to drive around them.
The drive was taking longer than usual and was making me antsy. The occasion seemed to call for car food, i.e. junk food. We stopped at a rest area, where Joe got a Snicker's bar (and kindly gave me a bite) and I got a "sharing size" bag of peanut M&Ms. During the rest of the ride, I popped one after another into my mouth until almost all were gone.
"Joe," I said. "This was meant for two, and I ate almost the whole thing!"
He shot me a glance as if to say, "So?"
If you want to get some sympathy for this kind of remark, you really need to tell it to a woman. (Reference the separate pie charts of men's and women's brains that I've seen, where on the woman's pie there is a slice for "what I ate today" and another for "things I should not have eaten," while the man's pie has no such thing.)
But I digress. The car ride was actually good "bonding time" where we listened to music and talked about different things.
It is more like normal fall here in the eastern part of Massachusetts. Yesterday actually felt kind of warm. As soon as Joe dropped me off, I headed out for a run. It was Halloween, and it felt like the peanut M&Ms had given me super powers.
I hit my stride pretty easily even as I zigzagged around little witches, ghosts, princesses (and one particularly cute tiny ladybug) getting an early start on trick-or-treating.
I ran for about an hour. Near the end, when I had picked up speed, I got a touch of that old feeling, the runner's high. It has stayed with me, a reminder of why I want to run.
As a bonus (or perhaps a bane), Diane bought was too much Halloween candy, and it is sitting in a big bowl for the taking. My only complaint is that she bought Milky Ways instead of Snickers.
As the snow fell and winds gusted Saturday, the trees practically groaned under the weight of accumulation on all the leaves that had not fallen. There were crashes and loud thumps. The microwave light went on and off, on and off. I peered out at all the trees surrounding the house and thought this might be the end of me. Then came the thunder and lightening. I looked it up and learned this is a rare occurrence called thunder snow. It sounds kind of poetic on paper, but in reality it is just plain weird.
The lights went out after I had gotten into bed with a book Saturday. The power has still not come back, which means no heat, no nothing. The house escaped damage, but there is a chunk out of the front of the garage roof and a hole in it from where a tree fell through.
Sunday night I slept at my friend Mary's in Chicopee, one of the communities that did not lose power. Last night I slept at Diane's; I was going to come here anyway because she is taking me for the Mohs surgery on Wednesday.
Joe drove me here, through streets strewn with fallen branches. We got stuck behind a line of cars that we thought were waiting to turn at a light, until we finally realized these people were waiting for gas and we needed to drive around them.
The drive was taking longer than usual and was making me antsy. The occasion seemed to call for car food, i.e. junk food. We stopped at a rest area, where Joe got a Snicker's bar (and kindly gave me a bite) and I got a "sharing size" bag of peanut M&Ms. During the rest of the ride, I popped one after another into my mouth until almost all were gone.
"Joe," I said. "This was meant for two, and I ate almost the whole thing!"
He shot me a glance as if to say, "So?"
If you want to get some sympathy for this kind of remark, you really need to tell it to a woman. (Reference the separate pie charts of men's and women's brains that I've seen, where on the woman's pie there is a slice for "what I ate today" and another for "things I should not have eaten," while the man's pie has no such thing.)
But I digress. The car ride was actually good "bonding time" where we listened to music and talked about different things.
It is more like normal fall here in the eastern part of Massachusetts. Yesterday actually felt kind of warm. As soon as Joe dropped me off, I headed out for a run. It was Halloween, and it felt like the peanut M&Ms had given me super powers.
I hit my stride pretty easily even as I zigzagged around little witches, ghosts, princesses (and one particularly cute tiny ladybug) getting an early start on trick-or-treating.
I ran for about an hour. Near the end, when I had picked up speed, I got a touch of that old feeling, the runner's high. It has stayed with me, a reminder of why I want to run.
As a bonus (or perhaps a bane), Diane bought was too much Halloween candy, and it is sitting in a big bowl for the taking. My only complaint is that she bought Milky Ways instead of Snickers.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Watching hockey from another angle
It is probably safe to say that I was the only person at last night's University of Massachusetts/Boston University hockey game taking pictures of the announcer.
To be more precise, the back of the announcer's head, because that's the only angle I could get.
I was at the UMass Mullins Center ostensibly watching the game but really there to hear Joe announce it. He has been the public address announcer for several UMass football games this season (including the one at Gillette Stadium, where the Patriots play) but this was his first hockey game.
Having watched Joe play hockey in high school and college, I was much more interested in going to a hockey game than I was in seeing football. I went with Jim and his friend Bill and had a good seat almost directly behind Joe but many rows above where he sat in a booth down at the ice.
I walked down and sat behind him and took a few photos on my phone to send Ben and Katie. Did I wonder if I looked a little odd? Yes. Did I care? No.
When we first heard Joe, I looked at Jim and asked, "That's him?" Of course I knew it was, but it was announcer Joe, not everyday Joe. He sounded, and was, 100 percent professional.
While everyone cheered for the players, I shouted "Yay, Joe" after I heard his voice. (Don't worry, nobody but Jim could hear me.)
I did, by the way, also pay attention to the game, which ended up in a 2-2 tie,
But for me, the main attraction was my son. I was, as they say in Yiddish, kvelling. Definition: To beam with pride and pleasure, most often about the accomplishments of your children.
To be more precise, the back of the announcer's head, because that's the only angle I could get.
I was at the UMass Mullins Center ostensibly watching the game but really there to hear Joe announce it. He has been the public address announcer for several UMass football games this season (including the one at Gillette Stadium, where the Patriots play) but this was his first hockey game.
Having watched Joe play hockey in high school and college, I was much more interested in going to a hockey game than I was in seeing football. I went with Jim and his friend Bill and had a good seat almost directly behind Joe but many rows above where he sat in a booth down at the ice.
I walked down and sat behind him and took a few photos on my phone to send Ben and Katie. Did I wonder if I looked a little odd? Yes. Did I care? No.
When we first heard Joe, I looked at Jim and asked, "That's him?" Of course I knew it was, but it was announcer Joe, not everyday Joe. He sounded, and was, 100 percent professional.
While everyone cheered for the players, I shouted "Yay, Joe" after I heard his voice. (Don't worry, nobody but Jim could hear me.)
I did, by the way, also pay attention to the game, which ended up in a 2-2 tie,
But for me, the main attraction was my son. I was, as they say in Yiddish, kvelling. Definition: To beam with pride and pleasure, most often about the accomplishments of your children.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Running while distracted
Every runner knows that some days you have it and some days you don't.
On Tuesday, I just didn't have it. I felt sluggish as soon as I started out on my four-miler. It was a beautiful day, perhaps a little too windy but sunny and crisp yet not too cold. I plodded ahead, super pokey. After a few minutes I took my sweatshirt off and tied it around my waist, and then at least I felt lighter.
Perhaps my problem was the humongous blueberry pancake I ate for breakfast when meeting my friend Ken and his girlfriend for a nice breakfast in Northampton at Green Bean, a great place where you choose your own mug and can take endless refills of delicious coffee. I had an egg for protein with my pancakes, but the total effect probably was not conducive to running.
Anyway, I did perk up the further I ran and even managed to do a few quick intervals. But I wasn't really into it. My head was practically swiveling around on the Mount Holyoke campus looking for people I might know, so I could stop and talk to them.
I thought I saw a professor friend up ahead and jogged to catch up, thinking we'd chat for a few seconds. But it turned out to be someone else. Then, as I passed the library, where the Rao's coffee shop is, I even thought of poking my head in to see if anyone I knew was there.
My inner coach was fed up.
"What are you doing? Talk later, run now."
Right. It occurred to me that maybe I need a running partner, but I can't think of anyone I can ask at this time.
I focused then, and on the home stretch, I ran as fast as I could.
"Finish strong, finish strong," the inner coach said.
And I did.
On Tuesday, I just didn't have it. I felt sluggish as soon as I started out on my four-miler. It was a beautiful day, perhaps a little too windy but sunny and crisp yet not too cold. I plodded ahead, super pokey. After a few minutes I took my sweatshirt off and tied it around my waist, and then at least I felt lighter.
Perhaps my problem was the humongous blueberry pancake I ate for breakfast when meeting my friend Ken and his girlfriend for a nice breakfast in Northampton at Green Bean, a great place where you choose your own mug and can take endless refills of delicious coffee. I had an egg for protein with my pancakes, but the total effect probably was not conducive to running.
Anyway, I did perk up the further I ran and even managed to do a few quick intervals. But I wasn't really into it. My head was practically swiveling around on the Mount Holyoke campus looking for people I might know, so I could stop and talk to them.
I thought I saw a professor friend up ahead and jogged to catch up, thinking we'd chat for a few seconds. But it turned out to be someone else. Then, as I passed the library, where the Rao's coffee shop is, I even thought of poking my head in to see if anyone I knew was there.
My inner coach was fed up.
"What are you doing? Talk later, run now."
Right. It occurred to me that maybe I need a running partner, but I can't think of anyone I can ask at this time.
I focused then, and on the home stretch, I ran as fast as I could.
"Finish strong, finish strong," the inner coach said.
And I did.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Beautiful bike ride
On Sunday, I loaded our bikes onto the back of the car, picked Katie up at Brandeis and headed to nearby Weston so that we could take a bike ride led by Rook.
It was a good day to take a fall bike ride in a 20-mile loop through such historic towns as Lincoln and Concord. We saw some of the places important in the American Revolution and also happened to pass by a modern-day American legend, Bill Rogers, who helped popularize running in America and is best known for his victories in the Boston and New York Marathons in the late 1970s.
Rogers owns the Bill Rogers Running Center in Quincy Market and lives in the area.
We were biking along when Rogers and a woman came jogging towards us. Rook pulled up alongside me and said, "Hey, that's Bill Rogers," and I recognized him immediately.
I lived in the Boston area while working after college and then attending graduate school at a time when Rogers was winning the Boston Marathon. It was a thrill to see him on Sunday, especially since he is a cancer survivor (prostate) who returned to running.
It was basically the same ride Rook and I took over the summer. It was much easier for me this time, although when going up hills, I still feel like I need a new set of quads.
Our ride took us past Walden Pond, where Henry David Thoreau lived for two years. The day was mostly cloudy, but just as we approached the pond, the sun came out and cast its light on the water. It was magical, and we decided to walk our bikes down and stand on the shore. The photos are of us at the pond.
On our way back up, I overheard a woman saying, "I come here whenever I can and walk two times around. Who needs Prozac when you have a place like this?"
Days like Sunday do the same thing for me.
 |
Rogers owns the Bill Rogers Running Center in Quincy Market and lives in the area.
We were biking along when Rogers and a woman came jogging towards us. Rook pulled up alongside me and said, "Hey, that's Bill Rogers," and I recognized him immediately.
I lived in the Boston area while working after college and then attending graduate school at a time when Rogers was winning the Boston Marathon. It was a thrill to see him on Sunday, especially since he is a cancer survivor (prostate) who returned to running.
Our ride took us past Walden Pond, where Henry David Thoreau lived for two years. The day was mostly cloudy, but just as we approached the pond, the sun came out and cast its light on the water. It was magical, and we decided to walk our bikes down and stand on the shore. The photos are of us at the pond.
On our way back up, I overheard a woman saying, "I come here whenever I can and walk two times around. Who needs Prozac when you have a place like this?"
Days like Sunday do the same thing for me.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Good/bad scorecard
This is the tennis version of the post Like a Woodland Fairie, in which I wrote about falling when running and about how it hurt but that taken in context, it ended up being a pretty nice day.
I didn't literally fall during today's tennis match, but my partner, Donna, and I fell to a team in Pittsfield, about a 45-minute drive from us. They have strong teams out there in the Berkshires, and this one proved no exception. We had some long points, but we just didn't play our shots. It wasn't one of those matches where you walk off happy because you played well. It was just frustrating, because they spun the ball a lot so it died on your racquet and they also managed to place it much better than we did.
Although I was happy to share the score of our last match – my first 3.5 match and an exhilarating three-set win – I'm not going to write this one down.
Hey, it's a blog, not a newspaper story, so I can leave it out if I want to, right?
Anyway, it's not fun to lose, but taken in context, it was a pretty good day.
Here is a scorecard of the day's events, with "bad" and "good" each worth one point.
Bad
1. Lost tennis match
Good
1. Ben is here for the weekend, and he, Joe and I had scrambled eggs, bacon and English muffins for breakfast and sat around the kitchen table and talked.
2. Enjoyed the fall scenery and talking to Donna while driving to the Berkshires together.
3. After the match, had snacks that the host team brought and schmoozed with the players from their team and ours.
4. On the way back, got a good cappuccino at a local marketplace and browsed through outlet stores.
This last one gets a bonus 1,000,000,000 points
5. I am alive and well and playing tennis and back in the swing of things.
Score for Saturday, Oct. 22
Bad. 1
Good. 1,000,000,005
I didn't literally fall during today's tennis match, but my partner, Donna, and I fell to a team in Pittsfield, about a 45-minute drive from us. They have strong teams out there in the Berkshires, and this one proved no exception. We had some long points, but we just didn't play our shots. It wasn't one of those matches where you walk off happy because you played well. It was just frustrating, because they spun the ball a lot so it died on your racquet and they also managed to place it much better than we did.
Although I was happy to share the score of our last match – my first 3.5 match and an exhilarating three-set win – I'm not going to write this one down.
Hey, it's a blog, not a newspaper story, so I can leave it out if I want to, right?
Anyway, it's not fun to lose, but taken in context, it was a pretty good day.
Here is a scorecard of the day's events, with "bad" and "good" each worth one point.
Bad
1. Lost tennis match
Good
1. Ben is here for the weekend, and he, Joe and I had scrambled eggs, bacon and English muffins for breakfast and sat around the kitchen table and talked.
2. Enjoyed the fall scenery and talking to Donna while driving to the Berkshires together.
3. After the match, had snacks that the host team brought and schmoozed with the players from their team and ours.
4. On the way back, got a good cappuccino at a local marketplace and browsed through outlet stores.
This last one gets a bonus 1,000,000,000 points
5. I am alive and well and playing tennis and back in the swing of things.
Score for Saturday, Oct. 22
Bad. 1
Good. 1,000,000,005
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The art of gardening in the rain
It was just starting to rain when I took Maddie out yesterday, but the skies opened up by the time we were half-way through.
We were both soaked when we got home. I told her to shake before we went in, and she did, but still, there were wet paw prints all over the kitchen floor. As for me, my sneakers squished, and water dripped off my Red Sox hat, which, by the way, is in bad shape just like the team itself. I had an umbrella, but still, my glasses could have used a set of windshield wipers.
I needed a change of clothes. But then I looked out at the garden and thought: Time for a rescue mission. It was probably the last chance for the flowers, perennials and annuals, which were being beaten down by the rain. So I squished on outside, clipper in hand, and started picking the survivors. Some were visible, while others were hidden behind drooping leaves.
Red, yellow, orange, pink, purple...there was a touch of everything.
I could hear my mother saying, "Don't be afraid to pick them."
I actually ended up with a bigger bunch than I had all season. Dripping wet (I mean me, but that applies to the flowers, too) I spread them out on a piece of newspaper.
Whenever I'm arranging flowers, I wonder, WWMD (What Would Mom Do), so as I put them in a vase, I tried to channel her flair.
I had to try it a few times, but I think it looks pretty good for an end-of-the-season bouquet using a little of this and a little of that, kind of like when it's the end of the week and you make dinner by throwing together whatever you find in the fridge.
The sun was back out today, and there were some flowers left in the garden, but the ones I picked yesterday definitely brightened my table on a rainy day.
We were both soaked when we got home. I told her to shake before we went in, and she did, but still, there were wet paw prints all over the kitchen floor. As for me, my sneakers squished, and water dripped off my Red Sox hat, which, by the way, is in bad shape just like the team itself. I had an umbrella, but still, my glasses could have used a set of windshield wipers.
Red, yellow, orange, pink, purple...there was a touch of everything.
I could hear my mother saying, "Don't be afraid to pick them."
I actually ended up with a bigger bunch than I had all season. Dripping wet (I mean me, but that applies to the flowers, too) I spread them out on a piece of newspaper.
Whenever I'm arranging flowers, I wonder, WWMD (What Would Mom Do), so as I put them in a vase, I tried to channel her flair.
I had to try it a few times, but I think it looks pretty good for an end-of-the-season bouquet using a little of this and a little of that, kind of like when it's the end of the week and you make dinner by throwing together whatever you find in the fridge.
The sun was back out today, and there were some flowers left in the garden, but the ones I picked yesterday definitely brightened my table on a rainy day.
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