It's good to get out of the neighborhood

The news has been so distressing, it was good to go on a few outings this weekend. Getting away doesn't make it go away, but a change of scene sure helps.

I had mentioned to someone that I wanted to go to the Brattleboro (Vt.) Farmers Market, first, because I heard it was fun, and also, because a reliable person recommended a vendor who was selling good CBD oil. The person to whom I was speaking said, "That's where all the hippies are!"

Farmers' market booth

She was right. It was totally cool. We got some good fruit, veggies, bread, and other stuff, and we hung around listening to the music and watching the crowd. It kind of made me want to move to Brattleboro. 

CBD oil may provide relief for neuropathy. Since the gabapentin prescribed for me only takes the edge off but not much more, my feet could use some help. We found the vendor, who also sold us CBD-infused chocolates. Though it does not get you high, it is supposedly good for relaxation. 

CBD is typically extracted from the cannabis plant as an oil or a powder. The oil or powder can then be mixed with a gel or cream that can be rubbed onto the skin or ingested orally. According to the National Pain Report, "One of the most well-known compounds of the cannabis plant is THC or tetrahydrocannabinol. Once the THC is broken down by heat and ingested, it can create a high. Although THC and CBD both come from the cannabis plant, it is only THC which is mind altering and gives you a high."

I got permission from my Dana-Farber team to try CBD as a cream, but they said not to ingest it. I only tried it twice, so the jury is still out.

On the way home, we stopped at the beautiful Bridge of Flowers, in Shelburne Falls, Mass. 

It is open April 1 through October 30. A committee of green thumb volunteers changes the plants seasonally, making it one of the wonders of the area.

They provide a list of each bulb, perennial, shrub and annual that you will see, not only month-by-month but also according to each half of the month!

I realized afterwards that my photo was a little crooked, so I am taking the liberty of reposting one from the website, approximating the day we were there, when the leaves were just beginning to turn. 

So many people were taking photographs of the flowers it reminded me of being with Katie in Park Guell, where it was hard to get out of the way of somebody's photo. It's something about color and design, I guess.

I'm talking about the fantastical public park system, in Barcelona, designed by the architect Antoni Gaudí. When I blogged about it in 2012, I said, "Crowds of people took photos all over the place as though intoxicated by the shapes and colors. It was impossible to stay out of everyone's way. We got a little crazy too."

(And for a side trip down memory lane, one of those photos is below.)

In Barcelona, 2012

On Sunday, I went solo to the North Quabbin Garlic and Arts Festival, in Orange, Mass.

Quick: What were the four towns flooded to create the Quabbin Reservoir? (They are Dana, Enfield, Greenwich, and Prescott, and you can read more about the lost towns here.) Orange, obviously, was not one of them, but it is in the area. 

There was plenty of garlic, which I don't actually like, but I do like arts, so that is why I went.

After two good days, I'm wondering what could have precipitated last night's weird and distressing relapse dream. I posed the question to a friend at tennis this morning, saying, it's been nine years, and still, I have these dreams. She said it's PTSD. I basically know that, but I usually know what brought it on, and I have no idea.

In my dream, I had gotten a good manicure and pedicure. As I was admiring the ruby/maroon color on my fingernails, I noticed that the color was coming off before my eyes. I looked down and saw that it was vanishing from my toenails too. Suddenly it was all gone. For some reason, I knew it was a sign that I was relapsing.

I told my mother. We talked to the doctor. He (I think it was my first doctor, Dan DeAngelo) said that I was OK for now. I had a level of eight of some marker. He said that when it got down to six, we would have to take action. The action would consist of giving me some shots. If they didn't work, he could do it again. But I would only get two chances. I was afraid and upset.

I don't know what to make of it. But I know that I'm lucky that in real life I got more than two chances.

Feet (or rather heel) don't fail me now

Tanglewood on a beautiful day 

After fear of relapse and fear of death, the thing I fear most is return of the dreaded heel pain, plantar fasciitis.

It practically crippled me for months that I had it years ago, and it was a pain to get rid of, cured finally by the soft orthotics that I got from physical therapist Ken Holt out in Montague. I complained bitterly (a favorite word of my father's) about it, while not complaining at all about leukemia. So the twinges that I have had lately have set off alarm bells. I do not want to go back to the period when I couldn't even walk down my driveway without piercing pain.

It might have started from walking barefoot more than I used to; a friend doesn't allow shoes in the house, and I walked barefoot until I could find the appropriate footwear to put on in place of the slippers offered. The slippers were almost the same as going barefoot because they were flat, plus, they were ugly! I repurposed a pair of old sandals by cleaning them. Opinion varies on whether going barefoot is good or bad for plantar fasciitis; in my case it is bed because I need the support.

Then I exacerbated it on an otherwise lovely day at Tanglewood with the Boston University Alumni Association and guests last week. (Some people were confused by my FB posting saying I was with the BU group because they thought I went to Vassar. I got my undergrad from Vassar and my master's in journalism from BU.) I have been to Tanglewood many times but never took an official walking tour like I did last week. Learning about the history was interesting on the beautiful day, but I did it in shoes not made for walking. Hence by the end of the day my feet really killed.

It didn't detract from enjoying the music while sitting in the Shed, a totally different experience from sitting on the lawn, on the day of Yo Yo Ma's "Little Carlito" entreaty. Such a pleasure to hear a star speak like a "real" person, even giving the number of the Stockbridge and Lenox police departments should anyone find the conductor's lost dog. If you read this story, you will discover the happy denouement.

I agree with my friend Ken Ross, who said of Yo Yo Ma in his review on Masslive, "One thing I will say about Ma that really makes him stand out - he always looks so happy to be performing on stage. Some artists might look like tortured souls. In contrast, Ma often has a genuine smile on his face when he's playing. And today was no exception. Other things I noticed about Ma today during his performance of Schumann's Cello Concerto - his effortless transitions, his crystal clear tone, his lighter-than-air touch and his superb sense of rhythm."

Meanwhile, back to my feet...I  stretched and iced a lot during the week and began to feel reassured that the twinges would stay at just that. Though you never can be sure because it can sneak up on you.

Race volunteer

On Friday I was a volunteer at the T-shirt handout for the Bridge of Flowers 10-K in Shelburne Falls, held on Saturday. I was with others from Northampton's Cancer Connection, which, among other non-profits, benefits from the proceeds. We worked at the Shelburne-Buckland Elementary School for a couple of hours, with a break for a spaghetti supper and ice cream. When chatting with some of the runners while in line, I told them I was a runner who wasn't running...much. I told them I was playing a lot of tennis and the running was taking a back seat. Still, I had a twinge of envy as I gave out the T-shirts.

Afterwards, I drove to the Bridge of Flowers, walked across and back, and lingered for a while. In the twilight, it was so beautiful that it was hard to leave.

Bridge of Flowers at dusk

Yesterday when I woke up early enough to go for a run and with no tennis planned, I said to myself that if I was still a real runner and not a so-called one, I would take advantage of the cooler morning to go out and do it. With tennis usually taking precedence, I last ran about a week and a half ago.

So I laced up and stretched and out I went. My mind was its usual chatterbox, but by the time I got into it a little, it had quieted down. I got a taste of why I like it so much as I got into a little bit of a groove. I tried my best to pick it up a little between certain markers and felt pretty good.

When I checked my mileage on my phone after, I was surprised to see that I had gone 3.7 miles. Nothing hurt. Still, today, I got a few more twinges. I better pay attention to them. In many ways when you get to a certain age, running is not good for the body. But it is definitely good for the soul.

A day of work and play

One of the benefits of being a freelance writer is that you can wander around after an interview rather than rushing back to the office. Of course one of the drawbacks is not collecting a regular paycheck, but you definitely get to stop and smell the roses.

There were roses and more when I walked along the Bridge of Flowers in Shelburne Falls today. The flowers are mostly past their bloom, but the bridge was still beautiful on a crisp, clear day. I went there after doing an interview nearby for a Yankee Magazine piece that I had pitched. More details on that later.

I got a sandwich at McCuster's Market and then stopped at Shelburne Falls Coffee Roasters for a coffee to go. I was so tired from having stayed up late watching the Red Sox game that I had to take 40 winks in the parking lot. It is one of my excellent skills that I can park and sleep for just about 10 minutes.

Maddie got a good walk when I got home and then fell asleep with her head on my lap while I logged in another night with ice cream and the Red Sox.