tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66735857338822985232023-11-16T04:45:03.527-08:00jug thugamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-89979393688135889412015-08-21T18:32:00.003-07:002015-08-21T18:36:03.087-07:00Do You Know Rebecca Rinquist?Amazing discovery: <a href="http://www.rebeccaringquist.com/">Rebecca Rinquist</a>, embroiderer extraordinaire. Such visions and delights: Check out these pictures from her book. Oh, can I learn this?<br />
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amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-81175971657398942802015-08-13T20:15:00.000-07:002015-08-14T07:47:22.395-07:00Satisfy My Soul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wonder what other people eat when no one's around, when they're not blogging about it at some fancy restaurant, or touting how well their diet is going. <i>Just normal food</i>. What's your go-to, or your late-night glory, or misery? People often ask what I eat; and mostly they assume I'm still on the wagon when it comes to butter, dairy, bacon meat, coffee, all the "bad" stuff I'd sworn off at a time. All of that has changed, my friends. I eat everything.<br />
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I try not to be exclusionary anyway. There was a time when I became almost unhealthy about the precise thing that I was trying to be most healthy about: food. Me, of all people, <i>unhealthy</i> about food. From bacon blog to green juice overnight. I gave it up, just like that. I needed to then. It made sense. And then I got a bit obsessed, guilt-ridden, almost afraid of eating certain things, that this gummy worm could potentially spark some cancer apocalypse in my body. And, I ain't gonna lie, I still have those thoughts when I eat sugar specifically, and I rarely, if ever, eat the stuff. But that doesn't mean I can get all cuckoo about it, and I will sure as hell eat a chocolate bread pudding if the time is right. I needed to find that safe, <i>healthy place</i>, between my personal food history, which does include bacon, by the way, and food as a way of life, which for me, has to look a little healthier, and a lot cleaner.<br />
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To make things complicated, after my oophorectomy last fall, the immediacy of menopause that followed, and the cascade of hormonal changes had massive effects; I have underrated what this really does to our bodies in a complex way. Night sweats are only the beginning. In actuality, my palate literally changed overnight, and I lost my appetite until only just recently. My old standbys that I could always rely on to satiate me, satisfy my soul, the essence of comfort food, was lost. How incredibly sad. Had my tongue lost her magic? I had to find a way back to loving food.<br />
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I was losing weight, which was normal by all accounts in light of what my body had been through. But I'm already such a tiny little person. I felt frail, fragile, bony, and old. That soft place that was my body is so long gone. How can I learn to nurture this body with food and enjoy it at the same time?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simple yet decadent, organic butter on toasted Italian bread.</td></tr>
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I started with coffee, which felt luxurious, began pouring organic extra-virgin olive oil and slathering organic butter on most things. Found an amazing low-sugar without fake sugar strawberry jam. Indulged in delicious bakery breads. I went back to the cheese, back to the things I loved, and started eating again but with a big dose of consciousness. I still love a fresh green juice, beautiful ripe vegetables steal my heart, and I love bacon, too. And can't they live in harmony, the green and the brown and all the colors? Yes, yes, yes!<br />
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At the end of the day, our food intuition is as important as any kind. Trust yourself and listen to your body. If mine happens to tell me on a special day to eat steak and get drunk on wine, you better believe I'm gonna listen.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-8150294242476776022015-08-10T11:56:00.001-07:002015-08-13T20:16:16.740-07:00Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-69438196678241665412015-06-19T07:17:00.001-07:002015-06-19T07:29:09.272-07:00The Last Surgery and MinipauseI had an <a href="http://www.facingourrisk.org/understanding-brca-and-hboc/information/risk-management/oophorectomy/">oophorectomy</a> on September 22, the "last surgery" as it has loomed in my psyche for, like, ever. The surgery itself, not the date, and the date I struggled with. When it would be, when it would come, when it would be the right time, when it would feel right. And the problem was, it never felt right. There did come a time when it felt <i>more right than not</i>, but it was never really in the way I wanted or expected. It was difficult in an unexpected way. With my mastectomy, there was no decision; it's just what had to be, and then what was.<br />
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I put it off; I needed more information. I felt guilty for making some power play against God, stealing from the world, from Him, and me and our family, any chance of letting a life come to be by the will of God alone.<br />
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Was it right, the surgery I mean, morally? The philosophy of it was utterly ridiculous, insurmountable, for weeks. I finally was able to accept that this can be God's will, too. Science. The study of nature, the gift of what God created us to be and think, to heal one another, but this seemed so unnatural. All of it, really.<br />
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To have a baby in the midst of cancer has been an escape for me in a way. Knowing that's out of the equation, just me and my own life, and death, and the lives outside of me now. It's "what's next?," unknown and elusive, magnified.<br />
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<a href="http://www.asco.org/">I work in cancer science</a>; I edit cancer science, and my job can feel so far removed from God. This keeps me up at night. The blessing and miracle of science, a "cure," ultimately. There are my girls to think about, always. My mom, my sister, my friends, people I've never met. There is that.<br />
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My surgery was nine months ago, and on the upside, my menopause has been a minipause. I have had hot flashes, and they're annoying but not nearly as crazy as they were when I was getting chemo. My skin, however, seems to have aged a bit overnight. I am having thoughts that I never thought could be, rhymes with "go fox" and "tasers." The thing I was most scared of was not wanting to get my freak on with my husband, but I do, want to anyway, so that's cool. And frankly, no one could really give me a good answer about that when I was asking before surgery. The docs need to get it together on that front. Is there really much difference in 40-year-olds and 60-year-olds when it comes to the flava of love? I kind of doubt it. The jury's out on that one, and it's a jury of 60-year-olds. Do tell! Inquiring minds want to know.<br />
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<br />amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-55604501991732557902015-06-05T20:59:00.000-07:002015-06-19T08:14:47.255-07:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVREwnCqS7QyXTOzs8vlimZmFM3fWgdRxXCCwB3lWXGP34fz68zVHK_2gMYM_Wb98_1hBmpdtFDIygX2lm5_zRZj0kBrLi1iPArmoZS88hF3MwfnjCQpYOAs5BpUBNb3niGQUIq-DeyMIb/s1600/FaceTheFoliage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVREwnCqS7QyXTOzs8vlimZmFM3fWgdRxXCCwB3lWXGP34fz68zVHK_2gMYM_Wb98_1hBmpdtFDIygX2lm5_zRZj0kBrLi1iPArmoZS88hF3MwfnjCQpYOAs5BpUBNb3niGQUIq-DeyMIb/s1600/FaceTheFoliage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.justinablakeney.com/facethefoliage/">#FacetheFoliage by Justina Blakeney. </a></td></tr>
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I am in love with this woman, <a href="http://www.thejungalow.com/">Justina Blakeney, her jungalow,</a> and her gorgeous art made of leaves and flowers.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-55025925503037883102015-06-02T11:04:00.001-07:002015-06-02T12:08:04.877-07:00Survivorship vs. Survivorshit<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">The shortlist of ailments, doctors, meds, and questions, lots without answers.</span></b></td></tr>
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Survivorship is a weird word, like, if you die from cancer, which people do, lots of people <a href="http://www.cancer.org/">(585,720 in 2014 alone, according to the American Cancer Society)</a>, then you're not a survivor, which feels kind of offensive to say about someone who maybe survived for a long time with cancer and died from cancer, and then it has this connotation that they were never a survivor at all. It's to describe those who've beat it, to honor those living with it, and that is commendable, cause let me tell ya, it ain't easy. There are lots of books, lots of "things" that celebrate cancer's aftermath: the amazing shifts in life that occur as a result of not dying from cancer, surviving it. That is so very true, I get that.<br />
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I feel blessed, and I also feel bad, guilty complaining about virtually anything after having cancer. Like, I'm alive, so <i>be fucking grateful, end of story</i>. I thank God every day for my body, for His healing, for doctors and nurses and science and medicine, for saving me, for saving my family, for waking up in the morning and realizing, once again over and over, that I am here. </div>
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Most days, I have conversations with God. But, there is another conversation that isn't being had all that much. More so lately, and that's a wonderful thing because it means <i>more people than ever before are surviving with cancer</i>. But, there are consequences to that, and no one, not survivors and not doctors are sure exactly what to do with us. So there are studies, new research trials, scientific meetings, and voices rising up about this very thing, because survivors are saying help us know what to do next and doctors are saying we don't really know what to do next, "just enjoy life," they say. </div>
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It can be hard to enjoy life the way we want to enjoy life when we know all too well that it can be taken away in an instant, and when you're racked with anxiety about recurrence, or numb fingers, weird electrical zapping in your feet at random times, a weak hand grip that makes it impossible to screw off the top of a baby bottle or to open a bottle of medicine or a bag of cheese, stabbing pains below radiated skin that come out of nowhere, a tender-to-the-touch bruise that never goes away, and if God can't take away my fear, then who can? When will it end? Will it ever end? This is the next chapter.</div>
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amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-51608969924788432922015-02-23T21:24:00.002-08:002015-06-02T11:12:29.610-07:00The Sweet and LowdownThis is tricky. I've been grappling with this. Writing again about this, putting my junk out there. But it's always the same reason that brings me back. I want people to know I'm alive, for one thing, that I'm struggling, for another, and also that it gets better, for everyone. Cancer, no cancer, just life.<br />
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You can come out of that dark place, and maybe you didn't know it was so dark until you walked into the light. But these are not your best days, I promise. Mostly though, we ALL can be a resource of some kind. This is what I prayed for: God, give me something real to pull to me up. Give me hope, real hope from real people that you've laid in my path with intention. Where are they? I need them. God, please bring them here, to me, to my heart. And they came, and now I think it's my turn, to give something good from all the good given to me. <br />
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So here's the lowdown. In March, I'll be four years cancer free, officially. That was when my post-chemo first surgery went down with good news on the other side. No more cancer in my body. And then, what comes next?<br />
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This is where the conversation begins, again. Till then, Hallelujah, Amen, and <a href="https://soundcloud.com/devon-4-1/the-sweet-lowdown-chasing-the-sun">Chase the Sun with this little ditty</a>.<br />
<br />amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-53541651366047444212012-02-28T05:55:00.000-08:002015-06-02T12:07:38.915-07:00God Works in Mysterious Ways<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black;">On my teabag this morning. Need I say more?</span><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmsAKUsLiDs9fn5oI874LQDTgYlI8bSrq5l1T_nof8NCeG2Tn_f6B_D3FzT4bof4HUvhkX1J9KAXnCsmAqbSXXTwqC48TD_2IcUkKeso0ZniCSs8trXN-6g1K6z9DpZi9ha3ptDiRQHii/s640/My+HipstaPrint+0.jpg" width="640" /></div>
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<br />amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-9880868643210472982012-02-19T13:00:00.000-08:002015-06-02T12:09:21.829-07:00Time After TimeWhen I wrote last, I was all empowered and stuff about what I was going to do with my time, organizing it, using it wisely. And then I realized that I might be obsessed with it. So, I had an about-face from what I wrote just a few weeks ago; how quickly time changes things.<br />
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Most days, I am giddy, my stomach bursting with excitement, that I am a strange miracle among many, and know that life is good. Some days – a few more lately, I have to admit – a quiet, heavy sadness settles over the day. I am afraid. How does my belief system pony-up to this new set of rules, the ones that say everything is uncertain? But, even when I thought things were certain, they never were, never are for anyone. Oh how I miss that facade: There's no uncertainty in that. And then I realize, too: I am alive.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister gave me this gorgeous pie plate, from Anthro. The numbers are a mystery. They remind me of time.</td></tr>
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It's okay to be figuring things out all over again. After all, I've just been through a shit-storm, and maybe I should be paying less attention to time, not more. Maybe I even should do things I don't feel like doing, because I don't always feel like doing things that are good for me, like getting out of the house, seeing people, engaging, connecting, doing<b>.</b> The only thing that I really need to know about time is that mine is not running out, and the rest, is up to God.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-57486669893940354072012-01-30T11:10:00.000-08:002015-06-02T12:01:03.079-07:00Time Is Precious; Waste It WiselyTime. Where is it? Where does it go? And, how can I get more? It's my excuse for everything: <b>I don't have enough time</b>. If only I didn't have to do this, or that. But, it's time to stop complaining and time to remind myself that there is plenty of it. I think I got a check-mark among pluses on my elementary school report card for "uses time wisely," and I wasn't very happy about it. But, there's always time to change. <br />
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<b>Here's what I'm going to do, for starters:</b><br />
1. Make a schedule. For real. I'm only going to do things that matter, and plan for the things that do. (I'll have to pencil in an hour or two for some bad TV, but no more late-night marathons of Kim and Kourtney Take New York!<br />
2. Stop doing things that don’t make me happy or make things happen.<br />
3. Cancel a commitment, or two, and not feel guilty about it – no more feeling bad about <i>not</i> doing things that I don't really want to do. I only need to show up for things that matter.<br />
4. Say no when I feel like it.<br />
5. Let things be – messy! Schedule a certain amount of time for chores. After that, whatever isn't finished will have to wait!<br />
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Speaking of time, isn't it springtime yet? I need <a href="http://www.jcrew.com/womens_category/shirts/classicshirts/PRDOVR%7E65520/65520.jsp"><i>this shirt, from J. Crew,</i></a> for spring. Dang, I love a pretty oxford.<br />
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<b>“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” ~Annie Dillard</b>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-34567990000206689572012-01-10T08:54:00.000-08:002015-06-02T12:04:13.504-07:00Reality Shows Are CoolOh man, I can't believe it's been almost two months since I last wrote. I've been laying low, recovering, relaxing. My surgery was rescheduled and happened on Dec. 12. It was a walk in the park compared to the first time around, and now I have brand new squishy boobs, which are slightly lopsided but awesome nonetheless.<br />
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So, I have a confession. I was watching this show, "<a href="http://www.cmt.com/show/sweet_home_alabama/season_3/series.jhtml">Sweet Home Alabama</a>," it's like "The Bachelor," but for a southern dude and southern gals, with a few city slickers thrown in. Who knew this guy would say something I love: "You have to be all in. It's when you let your guard down that you see the miracles of life." So cool, and so true. That boy will make some gal a lucky lady knowing that. Wish I'd known that a long time ago. But, I do now, and that's all that matters.<br />
<br />
Now, it's a brand new year, and I think this one will be even more exceptional than the last, with more miracles, blessings, health, and green juice. Jon was even excited about the juice part for about a day, until he tried it. But, trust me, he was being dramatic – that's what happens when your palate is used to stuff like Doritoes, Mike & Ike's and cheeseburgers. I find it refreshing and delicious, no joke. It makes me feel like I'm at a spa, and it's sweeter than I expected, too. Never been so excited to be "all in" to life.<br />
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<b>Make Juice Not War (Kris Karr/<i>Crazy Sexy Diet</i>) </b><br />
<i>5 stalks kale</i><br />
<i>5 stalks romaine</i><br />
<i>4 stalks celery </i><br />
<i>2 large cucumbers (peeled if they're not organic)</i><br />
<i>2 big broccoli stems</i><br />
<i>2 pears or apples</i><br />
<i>1 inch piece of gingerroot</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZvFYjKZU7Romj20L6gO2R2cfMLCovoQ9iiVbmFDE7IyvZIqo5oWIDzf1ws1FzZoC1GLKiQOLRX2ZF8W7IriXukkXePa1shLBnWfNAe4Pw4PrMy6Bm3SyjCo_PZXcP9hBHCUQjqmMywzf/s1600/P1014247.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZvFYjKZU7Romj20L6gO2R2cfMLCovoQ9iiVbmFDE7IyvZIqo5oWIDzf1ws1FzZoC1GLKiQOLRX2ZF8W7IriXukkXePa1shLBnWfNAe4Pw4PrMy6Bm3SyjCo_PZXcP9hBHCUQjqmMywzf/s640/P1014247.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff7IbrJmoXgkOc1scxr29BtF1mMXxeUEpPxM5dyZG_shIAnm_MVgga6Iax7XUFja4oLmPL7-Cza7IlxLM6zZf6SHBvHK31Qvzj4t-oUzoy1YjtZholrWk0Nr0K6TaZM_CdklCz40MsVP8/s1600/P1014244.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff7IbrJmoXgkOc1scxr29BtF1mMXxeUEpPxM5dyZG_shIAnm_MVgga6Iax7XUFja4oLmPL7-Cza7IlxLM6zZf6SHBvHK31Qvzj4t-oUzoy1YjtZholrWk0Nr0K6TaZM_CdklCz40MsVP8/s640/P1014244.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff7IbrJmoXgkOc1scxr29BtF1mMXxeUEpPxM5dyZG_shIAnm_MVgga6Iax7XUFja4oLmPL7-Cza7IlxLM6zZf6SHBvHK31Qvzj4t-oUzoy1YjtZholrWk0Nr0K6TaZM_CdklCz40MsVP8/s1600/P1014244.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-5382993733623863842011-11-15T08:44:00.000-08:002015-06-02T12:03:27.303-07:00Happy, and WritingLong ago, a few weeks over a year, I said that I couldn't write because I was too happy. Well. That is just silly, I've come to realize. I'm drunk with optimism, <i>and</i> writing poetry like never before. <b>The happy poet who I atheized back then is alive and well, and living inside of me. <i>Thank you, God</i>.</b><br />
<br />
My dad, in a funk a few months ago, whining about the crops or the broken down tractor, asked, "What was good about you getting cancer?" "So many things," I said. "I feel closer to God than I ever could have imagined, I feel grateful, blessed, happier, kinder." Since then, I've also confessed to my sister that, some days, I'm gripped by fear. But then it's gone, and I am electric, feverish about the future.<br />
<br />
I have surgery Dec. 2. The good one. One year, and my cancerversary that I couldn't really ignore like I'd originally planned came and went without pomp and circumstance, thank God, again. I'm blessed, blessed, blessed to no end that I can go without a big to-do about being alive. Nothing is sweeter, and I can hardly say what that means, just that I know how it feels to believe I would die – and then I didn't, and so I feel like sort of witness to a miracle, which changes you, good and bad. But much more good than bad, and nothing is ever the same as it was before, and so it's a milestone that was never intended, but a milestone nonetheless. A life changer, a game changer. Dec. 2 is another milestone. The last hurrah in this bittersweet party that celebrates the things you never really wanted to or should have to, but that's so alight and beautiful in spite of what started it all. It's all so simple: celebration, hope, faith, life, life, life, and this little one that's so full and fresh with it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt09UUCaNU7BuacBOGnhLhbWs4LG10_IQ9BtjgH_NwCGXzRgrGbWI10IVgMEXjzfc_3BJO4p0Qoa3o2-XJXt59jnLP-uxxFYt-1jFjlLuyXs43OxR7-d9AsEDnBttyB1GtBgciEExPfXui/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt09UUCaNU7BuacBOGnhLhbWs4LG10_IQ9BtjgH_NwCGXzRgrGbWI10IVgMEXjzfc_3BJO4p0Qoa3o2-XJXt59jnLP-uxxFYt-1jFjlLuyXs43OxR7-d9AsEDnBttyB1GtBgciEExPfXui/s640/photo.JPG" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>NJ after her very first Ring Pop, a blue one, as you can see – compliments of her Papa.</b></td></tr>
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amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-23125270612753164462011-10-17T10:17:00.000-07:002015-06-02T12:11:40.799-07:00How Many Miles Does It Take?During the breast cancer walk, we asked why in God's name is this thing 60 long freakin torturous miles. What's up with that? Haven't we suffered enough? I mean, everyone here pretty much has suffered in one way or another, from breast cancer, of course. And now we have to walk 60 miles on top of that? Why not 40 miles? Why not 30? But now I get it, and maybe it should have been obvious from the start.<br />
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It's <i>supposed</i> to be a little torturous and hard and slightly misery-inducing, because that's how it feels to have cancer. This is as close as it gets to walking in the shoes of those who've had to take the walk unwillingly, a measure of the tedium, the dreariness, the struggle to take one more step, to wake up to another day of uncertainty – besides the knowing that you'll have a hard time just getting out of bed from muscles and joints sore from chemo drugs; stiff, tight skin from surgeries in inconvenient places; looking again at that strange body you're living in and trying to get down with. Wanting to get back into bed and forget about it. </div>
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After Day One of the walk, it seemed preposterous that we'd go back the next day and do it all over again, and then again. But, like cancer too, there is grace in the struggle, humility, an abundance of love, gratitude and support. How many miles does it take to get you to that place? Fifty-nine just might not be enough.<br />
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amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-15865962575383504052011-09-09T11:46:00.000-07:002015-06-02T12:13:28.951-07:00Is Worry Worth Writing About?<b><i>"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." Franklin Delano Roosevelt</i></b><br />
<br />
I haven't been writing as much lately and have been trying to figure out what the deal is. I mean, this is normal for writers, I suppose. Writer's block, and all that jazz. Or, for anyone who does anything creative. Sometimes the juices just aren't a-flowin'. But, I think it's more that I've caught the worry bug, and I just don't like to put negative vibes out there, anywhere, for anyone. Today I realized though that if I don't put them out there, then they're just in here, in me, and that's the worst place of all.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, there was a horrifying photograph in the <i>Washington Post</i> of a little girl who was burned in a Pakistani suicide bombing. I thought of NJ, of course, as any parent would think of their child. Anything that devalues the preciousness of life is disturbing to me now more than ever – sickening, paralyzing nearly. Yesterday when the train got to my stop, some drowning, heavy sadness physically overtook my body. I felt nauseous, and started crying as I was walking through the parking lot. Couldn't even wait until I got to my car. I hoped no one saw me. <br />
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The image of the little girl was awful, but it set free some oppressive heap in me that's been there for weeks – fear of anything bad happening to NJ, or my family, or, basically – me. What if I'm working too much, and not spending enough time with my family and that makes me sick, again? What if I'm not eating enough good stuff, and that makes me sick again? What if I need to exercise more (um, I mean, exercise at all, and yes, I do!), or give more, create more, love more, pray more? What if I'm waiting too long to get my ovaries out of my body, and that makes me sick? What if I can't have another baby and NJ never gets to have a brother or sister? What if I'm breathing wrong (not even joking)? What if it comes back? What if, what if, what if? <i>This worry itself will make make me sick.</i><br />
<br />
My friend, Ash, told me I should see a therapist after my surgery. It would be a lot to deal with, maybe more than I could prepare for, mentally. Maybe she was right. <b>But can a therapist heal me better than God can?</b> Talking is talking, and I'm being much too quiet. I know God is listening, and well, He's free.<br />
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A little Xanax never hurt anybody, either.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-26611131133576620282011-08-05T18:42:00.000-07:002015-06-02T12:15:39.477-07:00Bless This Home Sweet Home<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buy this pretty picture from Spread the Love.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buy this one from Spread the Love, too.</td></tr>
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amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-51668976030529494532011-08-04T07:37:00.000-07:002015-06-02T12:16:18.802-07:00Show Some Love, As If You Haven't Already Shown Enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm doing the 3-Day walk in DC. Sixty freakin' miles. 6-0. Soo excited, and nervous. I know I'll cry so hard when I see all of the gorgeous ladies and families and friends who have been affected by breast cancer. What's a few blisters for a good cause, right? I hope I raise millions of dollars, just me – with the help of you. </div>
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<a href="https://secure3.convio.net/npt/site/Donation2?df_id=3093&FR_ID=1623&PROXY_ID=6178468&PROXY_TYPE=20&outreachid=dEYvQik_GWrvZcFZsIvFyo-2ZlZ32dzU"><img alt="Help me reach my goal for the Susan G. Komen Washington D.C. 3-Day for the Cure!" border="0" src="http://www.the3day.org/site/DynImg/DZ892w2OczdUnMCzbgIZK5V5qKkrfAUV.jpg" title="Help me reach my goal for the Susan G. Komen Washington D.C. 3-Day for the Cure!" /></a></div>
amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-255952658805705522011-07-30T15:38:00.000-07:002015-06-02T12:17:21.101-07:00Change Is in the HairOops, I meant to say, change is in the <i>air</i>. So much has happened in the past month. All good things. So much to be thankful for, I'm afraid <b>I don't know how to show my gratitude</b>. How much can I pray? There's more to do. Something big is right around the corner, always. I can feel it. In the meantime, here's what's been goin' down:<br />
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1. I got my very first new hair haircut. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. But still soo short...<br />
2. I'm not eating meat anymore. For serious this time. No more dead stuff.<br />
3. NJ is sleeping in her very own bed! – mostly. And me and Jon get to snuggle, like old times, if one of us doesn't fall asleep on the couch that is. It's pretty sweet, but we miss that little munchkin.<br />
4. We got a sweet, awesome nanny. Her name is Katy, and NJ is in love. She brought her a princess coloring book with stickers on day one, and that sealed the deal.<br />
5. I was crazy post-treatment anxious, like, what will happen now that I'm not getting a zap or a cutting out or a toxic-in-a-good-way drip? And I prayed for no more worry and fear, and guess what? It's gone. Thank you, thank you, thank you. <br />
6. Went to see Dr. Huxtable (oncologist) for the first time since my "treatment plan" has ended, and got straight A's for once in my life.<br />
5. And, we bought a new house. Plantin' roots, and wheat grass.<br />
<br />
<i>I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.</i><br />
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<b>–Whitman</b></div>
amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-51278193417183228172011-07-11T11:39:00.000-07:002011-07-19T11:39:57.916-07:00The Kindness of Strangers<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1-VM2TtH85M9Z_6wYCyntEslhdYPfojt0sC3AUkrYcVhZGXdhNkYeOL4-UW_CxxAGJqC5tT7ax2LAIShx_Z-TFGyOKRulncADmys6GFV5pxfMQKWGinl0ciHDMyD4ZWVZSNx0tcq3JOY/s640/Picture+2.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is from someone I never even met before – another angel. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-60929283658504923242011-07-02T20:18:00.000-07:002011-07-08T12:51:09.699-07:00So Sorry, But You Won't Be MissedI forgot to go to <a href="http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/coping/radiation-therapy-and-you/page2">radiation</a> one day last week. It was one of those rare occasions when I was actually engrossed in work and just plain forgot. When I arrived late, the nurse said, "I'm glad it's such a non-event in your life." Exactly, I thought.<br />
<br />
That non-event has been a thorn in my side and is now an itchy red mess, and it's about to be over. There isn't a single thing I'll miss about radiation, unlike chemo when there was some bittersweet, ecstatic, confused ending. Then, there was camaraderie, like some battle, where I was headed home and the rest stayed to carry on the fight.<br />
<br />
I won't miss opening that steely locker, hoping that the coral, not the blue, hospital gown is on top of the stack, and that it isn't too starched. I prefer the ones that feel like a worn, floaty old summer sheet, the kind at shoddy beach houses mostly. And I won't miss the part after when I struggle to get out a navy robe from the too-small wiry shelf shoved precariously into that small space. I almost always yank out the whole damn thing. It seems I'm the only one who ever cares to wear them, but there are boys, men, whatever, in the waiting area here, too.<br />
<br />
I undress, top only, but I take off the bottom sometimes, just forgetting, or I'm wearing a dress, and then after I lay down on the table, they remind me "top only." I know, I say, I'm wearing a dress. Next time I just pull the top of my dress down. Make little jokes, small talk, the weather, work. How much can you say in five minutes?<br />
<br />
I won't miss walking past the sign that says, "Danger, Radiation," wondering what exactly it means for me, and what it even is anyway. The nurse explained to me the other day that I'm in the last days of treatment here, and now I'm getting a "boost" on my scar because recurrences occur here most often. It's only surface radiation – <a href="http://www.cancer.org/treatment/treatmentsandsideeffects/treatmenttypes/radiation/radiationtherapyprinciples/radiation-therapy-principles-types-of-radiation">electrons – which is different from the protons</a> that penetrated deep into my chest wall, bouncing off bones, fragments brushing my lungs and inducing a barely noticeable dry cough, intoxicating my throat with a funny feeling. The bad coffee and the fake creamer. I won't miss any of it. <br />
<br />
I went to the pool today, and my little fake boobie was almost completely out of my bathing suit because I can't feel it exactly, in a way that I don't notice when it's all out there, nekked. I just happened to look down and see it, really, scary close to the edge. Seriously close. Got to watch out for that sneaky little gal. I've kinda been wanting to show it off anyway.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-11989953515835824812011-06-20T12:10:00.000-07:002011-06-20T12:18:15.528-07:00Little Poem for a Big Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmbrFSseFgLFxxi_wfeD-o7fei0I0KoeebzH2DniHWmY1kTc5fxFoSEx64hCGvLU_hQMK_9ehQYifhM4XKrWQpuAXOtilsA50YC9EscLIyFhMCPIcpYAoia9afxV1l3d9IFSl-89MdMwHU/s1600/Scan+111710002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmbrFSseFgLFxxi_wfeD-o7fei0I0KoeebzH2DniHWmY1kTc5fxFoSEx64hCGvLU_hQMK_9ehQYifhM4XKrWQpuAXOtilsA50YC9EscLIyFhMCPIcpYAoia9afxV1l3d9IFSl-89MdMwHU/s640/Scan+111710002.jpg" width="496" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dad, Workin’</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Bent down, bent-over shoulders</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">hooked back</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">raising up, lugging in, heaving out</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">still</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Broke</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Those busted up fingers all swelled</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">From the ink and the roots</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">and wire and cutters</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">sand paper really does sound like hands</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">on a tired old chest from North Carolina</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">that you rub down</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">some life you round out</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">like yours</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">getting smoother now</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">add milk paint</div><div style="text-align: center;">make a few bucks</div>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-27757983139814555322011-06-10T19:26:00.000-07:002011-06-10T19:44:05.496-07:00I'm Super Organized<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi8P8hExPrRPnCm2diaZYEygp4qNq6e3pSx1LA6OCI5UDX2cnEIPxbokL51KRptyK7nfmQUcMcn9y0t85g3dxxQrER3OFnYYDkMreY2Wz4S79mMxNlnwSYiGD_RCghIbnSjza5SedX9hH/s1600/P1013056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi8P8hExPrRPnCm2diaZYEygp4qNq6e3pSx1LA6OCI5UDX2cnEIPxbokL51KRptyK7nfmQUcMcn9y0t85g3dxxQrER3OFnYYDkMreY2Wz4S79mMxNlnwSYiGD_RCghIbnSjza5SedX9hH/s640/P1013056.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>This is actually a working document and has been for several months now. I referred to it just today. It makes perfect sense to me, which is slightly worrisome. I found myself asking, "Do I not have it together?" "Am I a mess?" I think the answer is kind of, yes. Yes, I am a mess. And then – I'm not meant to be perfect. Now carry on.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-84911127394614085492011-05-31T13:57:00.000-07:002011-05-31T14:00:58.951-07:00Holiday HeydayJon says Memorial Day is his new favorite holiday. The mark of summer, beer, BBQs, sunshine, day trips, nekked babies running around. Honoring real heroes, men and women who face death by choice, and this blessed, blessed country. I love it. I really do. We're lucky to live, to have grown up, to raise NJ almost in the heart of this place, this vast nation that feels so small at times. Especially when you go into the city on a day that's filled with such a spirit of gratitude, remembrance and celebration of everyone who makes it so.<br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgnNipKGAx9zCv_vmx-rRmSCiRyFUi_BII3F1g-YIRAK7om-_DEqMmJygIh_Me9CGQ5NzwboqsfcwsikZAkUmN2LhNX3N3ife-fbIJSHIzwrndSfsuT_XiVI_oH22F-k04eN3O7xeIWjR/s1600/NJsmith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgnNipKGAx9zCv_vmx-rRmSCiRyFUi_BII3F1g-YIRAK7om-_DEqMmJygIh_Me9CGQ5NzwboqsfcwsikZAkUmN2LhNX3N3ife-fbIJSHIzwrndSfsuT_XiVI_oH22F-k04eN3O7xeIWjR/s640/NJsmith.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_-V0FunI5Z3L89_7IIiKCA1LCvVRBERIJd1kxUq-J2aTjqsXPuuQp4VFa3Yr_qCra9Bn7NpsCTY6ny2bdNmGVdlowtK7Kavckdx7XkMBAQPvuzgZP5dgqpU3oW5pXJ2kivFHBWKBTduS/s1600/NJsmith2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_-V0FunI5Z3L89_7IIiKCA1LCvVRBERIJd1kxUq-J2aTjqsXPuuQp4VFa3Yr_qCra9Bn7NpsCTY6ny2bdNmGVdlowtK7Kavckdx7XkMBAQPvuzgZP5dgqpU3oW5pXJ2kivFHBWKBTduS/s640/NJsmith2.jpg" width="640" /></a> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWPHyLfVpzKFwBrqrMAcWdLVJbvD1UXcfQHtp9xf_OEFvQ3xBXg1GJBDJN7_GADHpFqI9AQWcTqXkIAq607ptjTtWWmlcEzh90mno1Jzz_Iz6M00i0A5xbhH0xU0l3qNquhyf34vSO2py/s1600/parade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWPHyLfVpzKFwBrqrMAcWdLVJbvD1UXcfQHtp9xf_OEFvQ3xBXg1GJBDJN7_GADHpFqI9AQWcTqXkIAq607ptjTtWWmlcEzh90mno1Jzz_Iz6M00i0A5xbhH0xU0l3qNquhyf34vSO2py/s640/parade.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrdnbtCvtJkj_MRNBRivmiCiKNV5vwEc6x5iJCXfmGC570ywaS8uCSwRuHwXlllXq4bJHUJUnB3-7T6N3ELgwGilpEJdDijyv4t-ZB_67xN_b7clUU960yIPsZQgo2fK1kMNDF69LQaVW/s1600/mem+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrdnbtCvtJkj_MRNBRivmiCiKNV5vwEc6x5iJCXfmGC570ywaS8uCSwRuHwXlllXq4bJHUJUnB3-7T6N3ELgwGilpEJdDijyv4t-ZB_67xN_b7clUU960yIPsZQgo2fK1kMNDF69LQaVW/s640/mem+day.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_-V0FunI5Z3L89_7IIiKCA1LCvVRBERIJd1kxUq-J2aTjqsXPuuQp4VFa3Yr_qCra9Bn7NpsCTY6ny2bdNmGVdlowtK7Kavckdx7XkMBAQPvuzgZP5dgqpU3oW5pXJ2kivFHBWKBTduS/s1600/NJsmith2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-73814900476991784292011-05-29T06:30:00.000-07:002011-05-31T13:37:02.539-07:00God and SeitanI've been having lots of crazy dreams lately. Some might call them visions. Some might even call them hallucinations. I don't know what the hell they are, but, I keep seeing animals, and they aren't happy that I've been eating them. I think it's God talking to me, and he's telling me that I can't be one with the universe and all that crap (not crap really) if I'm eating things I'm not supposed to be putting in my body. <a href="http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1887266,00.html"><b>It's not necessary for us to eat animals, to kill animals, to live and be healthy. In fact, it's <i>unhealthy.</i> </b></a> <br />
<br />
The pastor at our church spoke about attentiveness last week. Not awareness, but being attentive in everything we do, everyday. Hearing that voice, always. Hearing it, and <b>listening to it</b>. My meat-eating heart is breaking, but everything else is unbreaking. So, I have to go with my God-gut. I'm going to be eating tempeh- or seitan-bacon from here on out (the name irony – clearly disturbing). <br />
<br />
Here's a recipe for a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Quick-Fix-Vegetarian-Healthy-Home-Cooked-Minutes/dp/B002PJ4K1Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1306873059&sr=8-1">fakin' bacon BLT from my new cookbook</a>:<br />
<br />
1 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil<br />
8 slices tempeh bacon<br />
4 slices whole grain bread<br />
2 tbsp. vegenaise<br />
2 romaine lettuce leaves<br />
1 large ripe tomato, thinly sliced<br />
1 ripe Hass avocado, halved, pitted and thinly sliced<br />
salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
<br />
Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the tempeh bacon and cook, turning once, until browned on both sides, about 5 minutes total. Remove from the skillet and drain on paper towels. <br />
<br />
Toast the bread (I like Ezekiel sprouted bread) and spread with the mayo. Place 2 slices of prepared toast on cutting board and layer each one with lettuce, tomato, avocado and bacon. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Top each with remaining toast. Use a bread knife to cut these babies up, and enjoy!amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-42526262866764639252011-05-17T09:32:00.000-07:002011-05-17T09:32:06.732-07:00Three Years Ago Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYc_e3I7JtsP59WzX0TTjQjfi4omOIRkf5jwDBzZppLZTtIpDPG_lrpT9HMYsKrY7Ag_RT2uE2eEhHvWayrlx3uVEbBDUEYf0zWJO0wjrlcH1E3l0GjMgcaIznvOeCtx7-jESPRarLw1_/s1600/1375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYc_e3I7JtsP59WzX0TTjQjfi4omOIRkf5jwDBzZppLZTtIpDPG_lrpT9HMYsKrY7Ag_RT2uE2eEhHvWayrlx3uVEbBDUEYf0zWJO0wjrlcH1E3l0GjMgcaIznvOeCtx7-jESPRarLw1_/s640/1375.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32_y9Anrc3MBDBfdGg4QzzDyAbXhN8oG6TVRGQYVepTYg09o2lLxRgiyQMS71vB9_Jhic9yOMErsEm-kc8Ei38eG2wy9Gw03pXnlI3pCzmTaKDHF3iaVOgEOnzMSaGfqCST3pgjXPXTvj/s1600/1384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32_y9Anrc3MBDBfdGg4QzzDyAbXhN8oG6TVRGQYVepTYg09o2lLxRgiyQMS71vB9_Jhic9yOMErsEm-kc8Ei38eG2wy9Gw03pXnlI3pCzmTaKDHF3iaVOgEOnzMSaGfqCST3pgjXPXTvj/s640/1384.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>On May 17, 2008, I married a man more perfect for me than I could have ever dreamed up. I thank God for him everyday, but can never give thanks enough. The treasure of my life who lifted me up when I didn't know I needed lifting, he healed me before I ever knew I needed to be healed, and opened me up when I didn't know I was closed. I thought I'd been loved before. Not like this. He is my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBEbOsGdRAM">peaceful, easy feeling</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8w4mM4f-Q0">my loving cup, my beautiful buzz</a>. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5Gl9q76uDY">The river that sings sweet songs to rock my soul</a>. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbKlvWvpD2g">The sugar in my bowl</a>. Best friend, best guy a girl could ever have by her side. Love you baby, forever.amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6673585733882298523.post-36285546002048025702011-05-16T18:45:00.000-07:002011-05-18T09:00:13.474-07:00X Marks the Spot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8b8_u6UNCSQODDomIypy-MBOlDAT-MJpglzBVcwB07QpFqG28YITD69rCCsyoKB8n_BBHq47ckp6imQ3KRcUmLWqk26w3M-2Y0oGmaheTL1L49qsniwHI4Qyhw03FCWNv8jqBABgEYoRs/s1600/bullseye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8b8_u6UNCSQODDomIypy-MBOlDAT-MJpglzBVcwB07QpFqG28YITD69rCCsyoKB8n_BBHq47ckp6imQ3KRcUmLWqk26w3M-2Y0oGmaheTL1L49qsniwHI4Qyhw03FCWNv8jqBABgEYoRs/s640/bullseye.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I plucked a hair from an unmentionable place this morning, which means that things really are getting back to <b>some kind of normal</b>. I think I have pms, and cramps. Well, Jon thinks I have pms. I even washed my hair, and craved a cigarette for the first time in like 2 years maybe. Now <i>that </i>is awesome. Today was the first day of radiation. Here is my new tattoo, one of four. Not the whole thing, silly. Just the very center dot. Bulls-eye. Not what I had in mind when I told Jon I was thinking of a getting a new one. Four little dots on my body forever from here on out. Four reminders not to forget how fragile, precious, lovely, amazing this little life of mine is, and what I had to do to fight for it. Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. Can't wait to celebrate, our marriage, and so much more. </div>amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02655565803399003222noreply@blogger.com0