I'm Still here!

 

Big kid, little kids, on Wellfleet trip

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I didn't write for a long time because in the height of the pandemic, everything that I was going to say seemed so trite and trivial. As you can see, I did it for a while, and then it was all I could do to concentrate on my paid writing. I was used to doing it out of the house, inspired by the coffee shop noise that due to my newsroom years makes me concentrate better than I do at home. But I'm not complaining, because I was privileged to be able to stay at home. In any case, for the handful of people still checking in, I should say that I'm still alive! 

I realized also that for my personal reference, the blog is a good resource. For example, in thinking about possibly going to the US Open, I looked up what happened last year and found this post about the magical qualities of my Nike tennis skirt. It helped me remember what was going on at the time.

 Also it turned out that I am a resource for others. For example, in the spring, I got this message: "Hi Ronni! My name is Lane - I found your number off of your website. This is a little bit random, but I am trying to track down the bench books in Wellfleet. My friends and I came there 6 years ago and wrote some entries, and when returning a few years later hoping to read our messages, the book we had written in was gone. We are coming back this week for another reunion and are determined to find where they are stored. I found your blog post which noted that they are maintained by a local resident. I was wondering if you had any information on who it was? Thank you so much in advance for any info you might have! " They had googled bench book, which is at one of my favorite places in Wellfleet, overlooking Duck Harbor, and found an entry on my blog, maybe this one. 

One thing led to another, and it's kind of convoluted, but they did find the keeper of the book, with some info that I gave them as a starting point. He texted that they were students at Carnegie Mellon University, in Pittsburgh, and I replied that I had just interviewed a professor from the school, for this story on pandemic pivots, and he said they had taken a class with her. Hashtag small world.

I have been doing the usual: jogging, playing tennis, dealing with skin cancer, doing yoga, writing... The skin cancer is actually not an aside like I just wrote it. I had one on my nose, a squamous cell as usual. I didn't think it would turn into such a big deal, but I ended up with 12 stitches on my nose. It was so hard to keep it bandaged. I needed help. Then I went to Boston to get the stitches out because I figured they knew best. But they left one stitch in, so I had to go to the local doctor anyway to get the stitch out. 

I am also dealing with a senior dog (14.5 years old ) who didn't bark her whole life and who now seems to be getting it out of her system. My vet wants me to see a dog behaviorist . (Apparently you can teach an old dog new tricks.) I know what the problem is. She must have dementia because she wants to be with me but goes into another room and starts barking and seems to forget that all she has to do is stay in the same room. I gave in and made the appointment because who knows, I might get some tips. I have been putting her on a leash and going into the other room where she is, for example the dining room, and bringing her back into the kitchen with me. I try to stay calm, because I assume that if I raise my voice, she will think I'm barking at her. But I am only human, and if she is in the same room as me and starts barking, I do sometimes say STOP! More often, I go over and give her a pat or just look at her and wave hello.

I volunteered at a fabulous program, Moving on Up With Tennis and Education, which will be the topic of another post if I don't disappear again. 

It was so exciting to get some freedom and go to the Cape with the family and not worry about hugging. The little kids have the beach in Fairfield, but they seemed to be exhilarated by the waves at the ocean. There were enough waves for it to be exciting but not so many that it was hard for me to get in and out. (And no sharks.) So I went in also. I got on my back and floated like my mother used to do. I looked up at the blue sky with the white puffy clouds. I will admit that Katie had to help me out. We had a moment when I did a belly flop in the shallow water. "Don't yank on my arm!" I yelled, or something like that. We had a good laugh. I didn't drown. We walked on the beach to the other parking lot where the cars were. (Long parking story, maybe not that interesting.) It was almost a mile, but Nell and Callen did well. 

I thought it was a bit of an overreach when Ben said he wanted to take the day ferry to Nantucket, have lunch at The Rose and Crown (an old haunt) walk around a little, and go back. But I was wrong. It was great. We drove approximately an hour to Hyannis, took the ferry that was only an hour as compared to the longer car ferry that we used to take, enjoyed lunch and walked a little and then went back. I told the kids about throwing a penny in the water as we left, as a sign that we would be back. We did it, so of course we'll have to go back. 

With Joe and Nell

Cape trip #2 is supposed to happen in a couple of weeks. Diane and David were away for the first one, and we have all been looking forward to getting everyone together. The taste of freedom was so liberating. And all those hugs. Now we are starting to worry about the Delta variant. I am back to wearing a mask in stores. I am back to wondering, what counts as "immunocompromised?" (Those are among the ones who might have greater complications.) Is it me? I don't know. I am still on one milligram of prednisone, which compromises my immune system somewhat. And the transplants themselves compromised my system...somewhat. But 12 years from my last transplant, (I wrote about forgetting my birthday) , I am not immunocompromised like people undergoing treatment or right after it. I asked Melissa way back in the EPA (Early Pandemic Era.) She said my immune system is good but not perfect.  We are still planning on going. Fingers and toes crossed.

When I said 'nose,' maybe the dermatologist heard 'toes'

I went to Boston to the Mohs surgery center for what I thought would be removal of something on my nose. Instead, the doctor said to apply Efudex/calcipotriene, dermatology's "dynamic duo," to my face for five days, to in effect burn off this and other spots. Instead, she had the resident cut away part of my toenail and biopsy the dark area underneath it, "just to make sure it isn't melanoma." This was kind of as an aside. I have shown this gross big toe to many people who haven't had much to say about the dark area under it along one side. The consensus has been that it is scar tissue from my toe banging up against my shoe while running. She is the first person who seemed to give it a second thought.

When I said nose, maybe she heard toes...

The resident said not to worry. What, me worry? 

Here is something I wrote about being a worry wart.

It was not a pleasant experience and really hurt even more when the anesthesia wore off. I have not gotten the results yet. Boyfriend had to stand by when I took the Band Aid off in case I fell over in shock at the sight of it a partial toenail and hit my head.

A friend pointed out that it wasn't a good idea to write in October that my hypochondriac tendencies had led me to suspect pancreatic cancer...and then disappear.

I started a couple of times, as you can see if you scroll down to a post I wrote last month, and then I had blogger block, a version of writer's block that occurs when you are not sure why you are writing a blog. Also, I like to add photos, and my photos disappeared from my Mac. It took conversations with several Apple experts to get them back.

The pandemic has made it hard enough to concentrate on paid work. So I have put my energy into work that pays. I thought of revisiting the blog, however, when I wanted to look up one of the crazy things that happened to me and found it in my blog. It was the years that I had ferritin overload due to having so many blood transfusions, and having to drink a disgusting medicine, Exjade, to get the number to get down to normal. I found the blog, put in "ferritin," and voila, the posts came up. So maybe it is at least useful. Still, I got tired of hearing myself talk about myself. I'm not sure what I am going to do, but I thought I would at least check in and update.

Here is something about the increased mental health risks during the pandemic for those who have seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, and tips for coping. And here is another pandemic-related story, about the need for cancer treatments and screenings to continue. 

Here is what I started: 

Here we are with my Aunt Marge on her 100th birthday. I was very attached to her. My mother said that when I was three or so, and my head didn't reach the counter in a coffee shop, and my aunt hadn't gotten served, I said, as if out of nowhere, ""Please give my Aunt Marge  cup of coffee." 

When I moved to Western Mass for my job at the T-T (Transcript-Telegram), I stayed with her in Greenfield for a while. She was gracious, even when my dog Simon took a chomp at their little dog when he messed with Simon's food. Over the years when she lived in New York, I visited as much as I could. 

This photo  at left turned up during cleanup, in an envelope of old photos. Warren in front, my mother on the left, and Marge on the right...with the same sweet face.

As Bruce wrote in a beautiful tribute on Facebook, when Marge died on Oct. 19th, "she spent 101 years and 9 months on this planet and came in on a pandemic and left on a pandemic."

Bruce Byers photo, Lynne and Marge

Saying that I was sad when she died is an understatement. It is more than being the last link to the generation, to my mother. It is the love I felt for her. And not being able to go down to New York makes it worse. I have thought of doing it and would love to see Jeanne, Bruce, and Amanda, but it doesn't make sense now with the surge. 

The two of them were sooooo close. They called each other Bren. It came from an act that two sisters, Brenda and Cobina, did, which would start like this: "Brenda!" "What is it Cobina?" They apparently did this for a while and then when they forgot which one was which, they just simply called each other Bren.

Hopefully will all make it through and can get together in New York to celebrate a wonderful life. 

Here is another start. 

It sounds like an ordinary day...yoga, tennis, Odyssey bookstore on Small Business Saturday, coffee with a friend, dog walk... and in a way though part of it would have seemed abnormal pre-pandemic, it is the version that I have gotten used to. It was virtual yoga on the living room floor, for starters. Tennis, still at the Canoe Club, wasn't any different than in the past except for knowing that it is nearing the end because I decided not to go inside. At The Odyssey, one-way traffic, hand sanitizer, and a placard to take so they can keep track of, and limit, the number of people inside. And coffee sipped behind the mask, reminding me of how I did it after all of my transplants .

To wear, or not wear, the scarves, and other musings

My sister had lent my scarves to a friend who had cancer and wanted to know if I wanted some back or whether they would set off PTSD. I wasn't sure about the PTSD, so I said I'd give it a try. They came the other day. I picked one up, unfolded it, and made a bandit-style mask out of it. I folded it up and put it back in the pile. I'm still not sure. I can actually sense myself back wearing it. They served me well, so I don't feel bad about looking at them. But I'm not sure about wearing them. 

With Emily

People used to tell me, when I was bald, that my head head a very nice shape. I never knew exactly what to say about that. Thank you, I guess, but I didn't have much to do with it. When I was bald and shuffling along, Diane said I looked like more like my father than when I had hair. I always thought I looked more like him than my mother. It was OK with me that she said that. When I got out of the hospital and needed to learn how to walk again, Joe said that when I was shuffling my feet I looked like my father. My mother used to say, "Al, pick your feet up." That morphed into Joe saying "Mom, pick your feet up." I don't know why it was so hard for me to do it. Maybe because my legs had been swollen due to the kidney failure (like tree trunks or elephant legs, I couldn't decide which) and they had lost their muscle from all the time in bed. The ankle weights to wear while walking around the house helped. When running these days, I still feel like I don't pick my feet up high enough. If I try to change it, though, it messes up with my stride. My stride is my stride, I guess. 

Regarding masks, we wore them when going on the bike trail from Holyoke to Easthampton the other day. It wasn't too crowded, so at first I felt OK about it. But only about half the people were wearing masks. In hindsight I don't feel good about it, so I'm not going to do it again. Running around South Hadley feels safer. There aren't as many people. Though this morning I wore a mask when walking the dog and noticed more people out than I have seen later in the day. None of them were wearing masks. I felt like I had to dodge them. 

Many people are understandably having bad dreams. I actually had a good one. Most of my dreams about running or tennis are anxiety dreams. In the dreams, I'm about to run a race and realize I have forgotten to put on sneakers. I get lost and lose the route. (This actually happened once, in Holyoke, at the Talking Turkey.) I'm late to a tennis match, or I'm going to the wrong club and when I get to the right club, I'm too late and they've already replaced me.

In a recent good dream about yoga, my inner teacher was telling my inner critic to lighten up. (Not sure how that works.) To back up, I don't have a good relationship with chair pose. I feel like I get it right but when I try to integrate my arms it goes all wrong. In the dream, I was in a yoga class (real life, not Zoom) and we were all in chair pose. The teacher said my chair pose was good.

Here's something I wrote about the benefits of actual chair yoga, and here's something I wrote about the benefits of having a dog.

On May Day, I joined in my first rally and caravan for nurses and other front line responders. I had the idea for my sign, and Katie made it for me. We went past the Amazon fulfillment center in Holyoke and past Providence Behavioral Health Hospital, to protest plans to discontinue inpatient mental health services. To say the least, this is the worst time do such a thing.

The caravans happen every Friday. I plan on joining in again. 

Palmas Del Mar is too far

At the end of yoga yesterday, when the teacher said to think about what you need to do and how you are going to do it, a thought popped into my mind: "I need to dust this room." So when she unmuted us at the end (Zoom yoga being the new normal), that's what I said I needed to do.

My living room is in one way the best room to do yoga in and in another way not so great. I can put my laptop on my grandmother's coffee table and lie down on the rug and have plenty of room. The rug is so worn in the middle that I really should replace it, but I got it with my mother and I don't want to do it. Also the chairs from the kitchen, and a bunch of boxes, are stacked along the wall. Since work had to stop in the kitchen, I haven't had a chance to move anything back. The feng shui is not great.

Corey, the model who my mother painted, looks down at me from the wall. His expression doesn't change (duh) so if I wobble, he doesn't seem to care.

I took the framed photos and other stuff off the tables and dusted. Then I picked up a few things that were lying around and went to put them into the cabinet that had been in the "so-called den," the transformed bedroom that my sister and I had shared. I opened the side door of the cabinet. A whole bunch of photos were stuffed in there. Ah, the passive, a lack of responsibility. Who stuffed them in there? They included all the old family photos, including the one of the family, in Leipzig, at their last dinner before the Holocaust stole many of them. OK, so, drumroll...I put them in there. I took them out and put them back. There was also a sort of hat box thing full of photos that my mother had thrown in there.

People, if you are cleaning up a little, what are you doing with all the photos? In addition to the ones in boxes, there are framed photos that my parents had put up behind the bar at Atlantic Beach. (Yes, when they bought the house, it had a room with a bar in it, what can I say? ) What do I do with the framed photos? Here is one of me, in Central Park, either daydreaming or concerned about a pigeon.

I took one out and looked at it for a good long while. I took a photo of it and sent it to the kids.

It is me with the three of them on a big bed. Katie is about six months, so Joe and Ben are 4 and 7. Ben is a reading a book that interests Katie. There is a New York Times on the bed. Ben has the same smile as he does today. Joe is looking at Katie and maybe still wondering where she came from. I remember the T-shirt that Joe is wearing. It's of the New York skyline. I seem to have been drinking a Heineken. My legs looked nice and tan. Now the bottoms of my legs are messed up from skin cancer and not so smooth. Of course the tan led to the skin cancer (multiple squamous cells), but who thought of that then?

We were in Palmas Del Mar, Puerto Rico. My parents had taken the whole gang. I remember my mother making up a song that she sang with Ben and Joe. "Palmas Del Mar is too far, we can't get there by a car." There was a scene at some point. Ben had fallen off of a jungle gym and hit his head. My mother's face went white. It was the first of a series of Ben mishaps. I don't remember having any real trouble traveling with a six-month-old baby and two little boys. We had a lot of fun. It was when the worst thing that had ever happened to me was having three Caesarean Sections.

Despite anxiety, finding a certain kind of rhythm

The other day when I learned of a COVID-19 death that came a little closer to home than others, I felt so sorry for the friend whose friend he was and for the community that lost him, I did what I used to do much more easily than I do now: I went for a longer run. (My former colleague Stephanie Barry wrote a beautiful tribute.)

Without thinking about what the total distance would be, or, more importantly, the hills that I would need to climb, I increased my loop to one that I used to do. While running home, UP the Route 116 hill from Mosier Street, I had mixed and conflicting feelings.

This was good! I had pulled a coping tactic out of my old toolbox.

This could be bad! I was huffing and puffing so much going up the hill that I worried if the exertion could hurt my immune system.

Diane and David leading the seder.

I was surprised that I had run six miles. Combined with the dog walking, it would be over seven for the day.

Something that seemed so simple, like going for a run, is now more complicated. You think you're doing something right but you can't be sure. Everyone is sharing new insights, new concerns. The answers can change in one day.

I worried when a friend had shared a story about being careful to keep a safe distance behind someone else who is running, because if they're infected, their sweat, or spit, could infect you.

Ben, Nell and Megan

But I think the running provides safe social distance because I'm not going where there are a lot of other people. If I see someone, I jump to the side or cross the street.

I hope we all don't end up anti social. On the other hand, maybe we'll be more social than ever, wanting to hug everyone.

A hiker friend asked on FB if you need to wear a mask if nobody is around. Some people said yes, but more said no. In an article, "Everyone Thinks They're Right About Face Masks, in The Atlantic, Ed Yong summarized why the situation is confusing (and also ripe for anyone with OCD).

"As the coronavirus pandemic continues, many people are now overthinking things they never used to think about at all. Can you go outside? What if you’re walking downwind of another person? What if you’re stuck waiting at a crosswalk and someone is there? What if you’re going for a run, and another runner is heading toward you, and the sidewalk is narrow? Suddenly, daily mundanities seem to demand strategy. Much of this confusion stems from the shifting conversation around the pandemic."

He asked an expert a question that I've been wondering about: "Is it irrational to hold your breath when another person walks past you and you don’t have enough space to move away?" She told him it wasn't irrational and she did it herself. “I don’t know if it makes a difference, but in theory it could. It’s like when you walk through a cigarette plume.”

Advice can be contradictory within the same news story. For example, in A User's Guide to Face Masks, in The New York Times, Tara Parker-Pope writes, "The recommendation is to wear a mask at all times in public spaces because we don’t know who has the virus and who doesn’t. It’s also more socially responsible to wear a mask, even if you’re outside." But almost in the next breath, she writes,  "In general, outdoor exercise, with or without a mask, seems to be safe, according to most experts."

Whose mat is it, anyway?

OK, at least for now, here is my plan. No mask while running. Yes mask when walking if there are people around.

Another activity that once seemed simple has now gotten complicated: going to the bakery and buying a loaf of bread (and a cookie.) The Hungry Ghost Bakery, in Northampton, has a good honor system set up. You walk up to a window, check out the chalk board to see what they have, place your order, drive off, and return to pay on via their website. I thought it was a fun little adventure. And the eight-grain bread was delish.

 Then a child of mine said it wasn't a good idea for me to do that. Some people are all in with takeout food while others are not. A story on NPR on whether it's safe to eat takeout  lays out a convincing case for why it IS safe; several infectious disease experts whom NPR spoke to concurred that research hasn't turned up any evidence of COVID-19 spreading through food.

Of course it is lucky to have such concerns when there are people who don't even have enough to eat.
And I am lucky to live in a beautiful, uncrowded part of the country.

And I have adapted to Zoom.

Zoom yoga, Zoom exercise classes, Zoom happy hour, and Zoom seder.
It was nice to see so many friends and relatives at the virtual seder, even if only on a screen.

Maddie seems to like to come over for at least part of my living room yoga. Sometimes she lies down and hogs (or rather dogs) the mat. I either accommodate or nudge her. It is interesting to look into other peoples' homes and to see their pets pop into the picture at random times. Kind of lightens things up. Which is welcome right now.

Hanging in there...by a thread

Road all to myself on cloudy day run

When I got worried during cancer treatment @danafarber, my nurse, Vytas, wld call me a Nervous Nellie & say "They'll figure it out." Believing him, I relaxed a little. Without the same confidence in our great leader, there is no such balm w/ #coronavirus.

I'm not a big tweeter but I did want to share this thought. I remember Vytas sitting on the edge of my bed and saying "They'll figure it out." Vytas was a cancer survivor himself (lymphoma) and was one of us. He followed me wherever I went, starting from my diagnosis in 2003. I can't believe he has been gone for 10 years. He died not from lymphoma but from a heart problem resulting from the radiation he received. In looking him up to spark my memory about the year of his death, I came upon something I wrote. It was on Brigham and Women's Hospital's newsletter for nurses. The remembrance said,

A Newton resident, Mr. Durickas dedicated himself to patients, even when he struggled with his own health issues. His caring personality often made an impact on patients. One of those former patients is Ronni Gordon, a writer who blogs about running and battling with leukemia. She recently wrote of her memories of Mr. Durickas.

“Over many years and through four bone marrow transplants, he always took that extra step. His kindness and sense of humor helped me get through many tough spots,” she wrote. “I’d panic over some new detour on the road to recovery, and he’d calm me down with a mix of knowledge, a talent for putting things in perspective, and, always, something funny.”

The nation needs a Vytas, and we don't have one. Couldn't we even have someone with at least a voice that isn't grating, someone with a calm tone, such as I heard in the message that my Congressman, Richie Neal, left on my answering machine in giving a heads-up to an upcoming informational call that he would be giving? This article in The Atlantic, "No Empathy, Only Anger," , lays out the tone and substance of the administration's failure. The news is so all around bad, from two Republican senators dumping their stocks before the economy went bad, to mismanagement and missed opportunities, that following the news is sickening, but not following it is not in my nature. I am trying to limit as much as I can. For example, last night I didn't read or watch one bit of news, instead catching up on Grace and Frankie.

Is it lunch time?

Given absence of guidance from the top, states, localities, communities, and individuals and friends and family are trying to fill in the gap. Kudos to Serenity Yoga (and others) for setting up a virtual studio. I did my first class this morning via my laptop and enjoyed connecting with others and keeping up my practice. Afterwards, I had a FaceTime coffee chat with a fellow yogini. Last week four friends and I tried to share a virtual cocktail hour. There were some technical difficulties, but I guess we'll have to learn.

I've been to the supermarket twice and hope to not go again until this clears up. I wore a mask and gloves, but the mask kept slipping, and as I tried to fix it behind my ear, I thought about how I should not be touching my hair. My friend the pharmacist said he thought I was OK, but the concern afterwards really dragged me down. I'm either going to use online means or go to River Valley Coop, which has started curbside pickup. THEN you read about how you have to wipe your groceries down (which I didn't do) because who knows who has touched what.

Also why are people hoarding Hellman's mayonnaise?

My kitchen is ready to be painted, but I'm not sure if I should let the painter in. As of this writing I have said to put a pause on all of the house repairs. It's not finished but it's good enough. I do go back and forth on the kitchen. I would like to have the kitchen back...

It has been pointed out to me that being quarantined is nothing new to me; I learned how to live with limitations after each of my four stem cell transplants. But at least then I knew what the enemy was. In the case of the virus there is so much uncertainty.

There is still dog walking and following the dog around the house taking photos of her or getting a hug. On one of the nice days this week, I played singles with the BF. I evened out the playing field by making up rules as we went along, such as if he hit a serve that I couldn't return, I got a mulligan. (I gave him some second chances too!)

Absent tennis at the club, I am trying to do a little more running. The other day, I ran four (up and down hills) and walked two. It's not easy to get out the door like it was in the old days, but it's doable, and once I get going I'm grateful for it. I can almost forget what a mess we're in.

In the woods and in Oklahoma, in New York

Central Park woods

I “only” got stuck three times in my most recent ECP session, so that is progress.  I thanked the nurse who got the needle in my arm on the second try. She said she didn’t know why I was thanking her and I said it was because the last nurse did it three times. It is a very yucky feeling when it doesn’t go in right. They get it in but it hurts in an unusual and specific way that tells me it has to come out and they have to give it another try.

The added Cymbalta at first seemed to help my aching feet, but then it didn’t, and it is confusing and upsetting because no one person says the same thing as to whether to add a certain drug or try more CBD and a small amount of THC and if so, how much and how often. I am on a relatively low dose of gabapentin – 1500 milligrams a day – and the neurologist had said I could take more but didn’t specify how much. I met a woman who is on 2,400 mgs., and it seems to help but then it messes with her head. Neuropathy sufferers can bond the way plantar fasciitis sufferers do. If you don’t have it, you don’t get how pain in your feet can affect your head. The woman and I talked about how odd it is that your feet can feel numb, and as though they’re wrapped in gauze, and be painful and tingling at the same time.

I think I need to see the neurologist again to get more specifics, and now I will just revert to an oldie but goodie: yada yada yada. 

Though I haven’t been having luck with my feet, I’ve had it on a couple of other fronts while in New York for a week.

View from theater seats

On Monday, I went to a yoga studio where I’ve been a couple of times, YogaWorks Eastside, and said I wanted to pay for a week’s worth of classes. The person at the desk said he had no record of me, and therefore I did not exist, and therefore I could have a free week of yoga. And also a free loaner mat. I wasn’t going to protest. He signed me up for a week’s worth of classes. The teacher of the Hatha Yoga class that I was about to take was listening. At the end of the class, she smiled and said, “Now you exist.” I took the same class today, bookmarking the week. I haven’t done yoga every day since I was in Costa Rica! 

The guidance has seemed very New York, focusing on getting anxiety to subside and quieting the tendency to rush around mentally with all the physical rushing around city streets. Since some might say I’m a little bit hyper (yes, also anxious) and that I rush around more than I need to (with the city possibly imprinted on my psyche), it has suited me well.  

The other day I entered the Today Tix lottery to see if I could get $40 rush tickets to see Oklahoma. (Following my daughter’s lead, again.) After yoga I walked through a downpour to Circle in the Square theater so I could talk to someone in the box office about seating availability. I usually do it on line but different sites had different prices and I wanted help sorting it out. It was 2 p.m., the time of the lottery drawing. I didn’t get the tickets, but I got an offer of $60 per ticket for seats that cost twice as much on some sites. 

The box office person gave me seats in the second row, and since she did it for me, I didn’t have to pay the service fee that I would have had to pay on line. The downpour continued through show time. It's a good thing it wasn't cold, because my feet were soaking wet. As my theater scout warned me, it had very dark undertones. Still, it leaves you humming.

As the New York Times review explained: the director has "reconceived a work often seen as a byword for can-do optimism as a mirror for our age of doubt and anxiety. This is “Oklahoma!” for an era in which longstanding American legacies are being examined with newly skeptical eyes. Such a metamorphosis has been realized with scarcely a changed word of Oscar Hammerstein II’s original book and lyrics. This isn’t an act of plunder, but of reclamation. And a cozy old friend starts to seem like a figure of disturbing — and exciting — depth and complexity."

In other news, I ate a giant matzo ball and walked in the North Woods section of Central Park, an unexplored area for me. At least the neuropathy doesn't keep me from getting around. Putting CBD lotion on my feet seems to help. In any case it feels good. 

Two-hour yoga, tennis slice, and other fun stuff

For New Year's Day, I first checked Serenity Yoga to see if there were any classes – there weren't – so I tried Yoga Center Amherst  and saw that they had a two-hour class combining music, chanting, and asanas.

So I signed up and went. It felt like the right place to be. Apparently a lot of other people felt so too. We were packed in. That was OK. It created a good energy inviting you to talk to your neighbor and go with the flow.

At one point when we were left to do our own thing and it got a little confusing, I got into one of my favorite and most calming poses, legs up the wall, supported by a block, only legs in the air, without a wall, like this image from Gaia. (I read someplace that you should do legs up the wall every day. It's a great way to get your thoughts to take a nap.)

I had vowed to take the day off from writing, but that didn't happen. I walked over to the Black Sheep Deli and got a coffee and a treat and sat in a favorite window seat. My resolution of staying calm got hijacked by the the caffeine. I guess going with the flow meant going and getting a coffee and writing.

Next I went to the Hadley Target and found it packed, like the yoga studio, only with a different vibe. It seemed like everyone who wasn't at yoga was shopping.

I had called Monday for my ride to Boston (for the light therapy, or ECP) but everyone had left early. I waited on hold early Tuesday morning for about 45 minutes, and when someone finally picked up, they said they couldn't do same-day service. I remembered to book ahead through February, but in the meantime I drove myself.

Due to accumulating scar tissue in my left arm, the nurse has had to jiggle the needle around. This is not a good feeling. Once in, it stung and then hurt, but some Tylenol took the edge off. Since I have been using two needles, the process goes much faster, around two hours instead of three.

Three sessions ago, I was curious about why my hematocrit was a little low, a little over 29. The curiosity bordered on concern. But two weeks ago it was 32, and yesterday it was 33. (Normal range for women is 34.9 to 44.5.) The doctor who visited me said that the lower count resulted from loss of blood in the procedure.

I slept at Diane and David's and then got up early enough to get to Bay Road on time for my tennis contract at 10. The traffic leaving Newton made me a little nervous. But it cleared up and I made it. We had some good games, but I don't understand what's up with one of the women. Sometimes she's friendly, at other times prickly.

She doesn't like the way I slice when we warm up at the net (says it isn't a good warmup because she can't hit it back), so today I hit it flat. The last time she said it, I said that's how I play, and I continued to do it, but in the interests of a good warmup, I did it differently today.

One of the players in George's summer group said that when she goes to Florida, her slicing gets everyone mad, so it must be the same effect. It's hard to change, because when we're with George, we hear about it when we DON'T slice. By the way, it works pretty well in a game.

Roger's backhand slice

Then, when she was at the net warming up, she didn't think I got enough to her, and she complained that she wasn't getting a good warmup. THEN when, in between points, I hit the ball over to her and said "heads up," or "coming," (one of the two) it didn't come near her, but she said something in an annoyed tone because she didn't like the way I sent it back. I'm still not sure what the problem was. I think maybe she wanted me to throw it instead of hit it. If I had thrown it, it wouldn't have gone very far.

Geez Louise.

I've been on the verge of saying something to her, and some day I might, but it hasn't come to that. Some day when we're warming up, maybe I'll ask to either be with her or hit opposite someone else and say that the reason for it is that she doesn't like the way I hit. Maybe that will get the point across that I've paid George and The Enfield Tennis Club a lot for that slice and I'm not going to give it up.

In a funk after flu shot, and trying to run through it

On Monday I went to CVS and got a flu shot. I figured that by the time I made a doctors' appointment, I might get the flu.

Since I've been poked and prodded countless times, you'd think that I'd be tough. I didn't get hysterical or anything. But I did get a little whiny. I said it hurt.

"Well,  it should, I just put a hole in your arm," the nurse said.

I asked the usual question – would I get sick – and she said that since it is a dead virus, I would not.

Since I like to do things differently, yesterday I felt sick. And my arm hurt. Waaaaaa.

I had promised Maddie a walk. We went to the bank. She lay down on the floor and made herself comfortable. The teller came around and gave her a dog biscuit. My ATM card was not working, so I went to her cubicle and sat down while she made me a new one. Maddie came over and sat with me. I looked at the photo of the teller's dog. It was a Shih Tzu.

I told her about the time when I brought my dog Simon to live in Greenfield at my Aunt Marge's house while I looked for a place to stay. I had gotten my first real newspaper job, at the Transcript-Telegram in nearby Holyoke, before I graduated from Boston University's journalism master's program. (Thank you Jon Klarfeld.)

Simon was possessive about his food. The little dog came over to investigate. Simon snapped. And, unintentionally but still not a pretty picture, broke the little dog's jaw. I felt terrible, of course, but luckily the dog was OK. It's a good thing that everyone loved Simon. I got to stay until I got an apartment in Florence.

Ah, memories.

In any case, yesterday, still not feeling great, I walked Maddie around the lake. When I came back, I looked out the door and thought about how in the way-back-past, if I felt slightly under the weather I could get rid of it by going out for a run.

I wanted to be able to do that. My legs felt heavy, and a stood for a while, looking out the window. I put my leg up on the counter and stretched. (Actually, I my hand ASSISTED my leg in getting up onto the counter. ) It could have gone either way. But I went out for the so-called run, back to the lake, which is about a mile around.

My run was about the same speed as my walk. I bumped into a friend and walked a little way with her. I said that if I wanted to get back to the point where a run was a cure-all, I would have to push through the first part, which was always the hard part. I've done it a few times but not consistently enough. Tennis is easier.

Thinking about this, I wondered, enough for what?

Not enough to get the runner's high, but enough to be a lot more than back after my last transplant when I couldn't even turn myself over or get out of bed.

A little perspective helps.

In any case, my phone said that by the end of the day, between getting to the bank, to and from the lake, and around it twice, I had done, or rather trudged, five miles.

I almost called it quits but I went to Northampton to Megan's yin yoga. It is a hassle to get there and not the best time for me – 6 p.m. – but it always calms me down.

On being in paradise and coming back

Daily yoga at Villa Pelicano

I think I surprised everyone by saying that I was going to Costa Rica with less than a week's notice, but I did it, and I had a fabulous time, and I have been feeling tired (from the energy expended)  and a little farblondjet (due to no longer being in paradise and trying to figure out how to maintain some of what I got over there).

Still, it is my problem at the moment and as a wise son says in this kind of situation, "It is what it is."

If that isn't a First World Problem and a Healthy Person's Problem, I don't know what is.

I surprised myself and one of my yoga teachers at the Hampshire Y, Megan, when I said I would look into it after she told the class that she had some spots left in a women's self-care and yoga retreat in Costa Rica ... happening in less than a week. After checking in with some of the people who watch me (mainly my daughter and my nurse practitioner), and checking to see that I had a valid passport, I pondered the discount she offered, a great one for seven days, with two meals a day that turned into three when you considered the delicious leftovers.

I sat at my kitchen table and thought about how my life is good, but wouldn't it be great to break out. I haven't gone anywhere major in a long time. I had appointments to rearrange and a lot of miscellaneous stuff, but I did it, well, most of it, and was so glad I went.

We were on a private estate with views of the water, yoga every day, and the sound of birds early in the morning. Maybe they were saying, coffee, coffee, but whatever, their call got me out of bed before dawn. The coffee was usually made by someone else who got up even earlier. All I had to do was pull down the lever, fill the cup, and settle in on a couch or chair and watch the day dawn.

I keep starting this post and going back to it because it almost seems like a dream that is hard to recreate. 

This might seem like a small thing but my laptop (to some friends' understandable annoyance) has become an extension of me. I didn't bring it and therefore didn't do the writing I had thought I might do. Otherwise I would have done some blog posts in real time.

At Manuel Antonio National Park

It seemed to us that there was as much uphill going down as there was going up. This might not make sense but it was because going both ways, there were a lot of ups and downs. (Note to self: Write something for my new gig at Health-Union.com about how this was a lot like cancer treatment.)

To save space, I instead took an iPad (a gift) that had flung itself off my counter when I was packing and didn't make me want to write on it, due to the crack across it and my clumsiness in figuring out a new format. Plus, it might actually be broken because when a new friend tried to help me scroll up and down on a blog post, it kept getting stuck. I put it away and was more unplugged than I have been in a while. I think this was a good thing.

I wrote a little something on Facebook on April 28:

"I want to move here, which is what people on vacation often do. I’m at a private estate, Villa Pelicano, in the town of Manuel Antonio, with a group of eight fabulous yoginis from around the country, plus our teacher Megan. Every day has a theme. Yesterday was fortify. I did it with a 12-mile round trip hike up to a waterfall. We walked over a suspension bridge to get there and then got into a pool. It was exhilarating. They were surprised that I made it. On the way back in a tropical downpour, my knee started to hurt a little. I jogged towards the finish, thinking that if I got there faster there would be less time for it to hurt. Last night, instead of being tired, I was wound up and energized. I really love this group. We do yoga every morning on the outside deck seen in the photos. Then we have activities. We get two free treatments at Holis Wellness Center, down the road a few minutes. It is so interesting to get to know people from scratch in this special environment. We talk about anything and everything. Oh did I say we our own chef? And the coffee is perfecto. I want to ask her to do it again and maybe get some friends from back home to go. When you break down what you get, it is a great bargain!"

That was all I could manage to write on my iPhone. I want to add that I couldn't have done the hike without the new friend who walked with me. There was supposed to be one group to go the whole route and another to take a car and start a little farther up. Those who I asked for recommendations suggested I go on the shorter hike. I would have done it. But one by one, the people in that group decided not to go at all. It was either the whole or nothing. They kept talking about a bridge that I wanted to see.

Most said they wanted to go fast. I knew I couldn't do that. Alison volunteered to go with me "slow and steady." We stopped briefly along the way to look at bugs and plants; she knew a lot about both, and it was an educational distraction. I zigzagged up and down and took it bird by bird, or in this case, rock by stone. We talked about so many different things that by the top, it seemed like we had known each other for years.

The others, who had gotten to the lunch spot and waterfall before us, gave us a round of applause when we emerged. Then we walked over the bridge to the waterfall and took a dip. I didn't look down, instead looking ahead to Alison when she got to the other end. She was so positive and fun to be with that she was a great focal point.
On the way back, she recited a mantra. I didn't know what she was saying, but I hummed along. 


Going over the stones to get into the pool was probably the hardest part, but it was worth every step of the way. Athletic Rachel from Colorado went in for a second dip and provided encouragement. It was a peak experience. Coming back through a tropical storm added to the magic. All the creatures woke up. The green was greener and the flowers brighter. The frogs were so loud. It was starting to get dark. 

Triumphant with Alison McKee at end of bridge

 A bug bite on my back is driving me crazy. I took a Benadryl so I wouldn't lie there itching for three hours. I think the new Fellow on rotation might have thought I was in bad shape because I was slurring my words. Afterwards I asked her how you hold on to all that Zen. 

The challenge, of course, is bringing some of it back with you. I got back around 1 in the morning last Tuesday after making a connection that gave me just enough time to board my second plane in Charlotte.

The next day I went to ECP. Then I came home and played tennis. Then I tried to reorganize. I have several writing projects going at once. Yesterday I had ECP, two weeks in a row, because they didn't want me to skip too many due to vacation. 

Before ECP I actually skipped a Wednesday, the day before yesterday, at the Canoe Club. It would have been my first outside lesson with George of the season. This was big: The Canoe Club is another kind of paradise for me. But I wanted to go to Megan's yoga class, to hear her voice and do her calming yin yang yoga and feel myself back in Costa Rica just a little bit.

"Don't judge yourself," she said.

For people of a certain ilk, like myself, this is hard to do. 

In our circle we had talked about trying to be less goal-oriented, to be more like the sloth that we saw, to go with that good old flow.

Hopefully I can keep just a little bit with me.