Let Me Tell You Why I Suck*

... at being domestic. It's a long story, but no doubt very enlightening. Unless of course it isn't, in which case welcome to the frogg files! That's par for the course around here.

But moving on to the illustration of my point: On Monday, I did something so bizarrely out of character, I can only assume that chemotherapy had more far-reaching effects than I had ever imagined in that it must have altered some core element of my esoteric being. I spent the evening baking.

Wait a minute, I hear you saying. That's not sucky! That sounds like you might be actually be getting good at being domestic! That sounds like there's hope! Yay!

To which I say, O ye of little faith.

First, some background. The reason for the foray into Betty Crockerdom was due to the fact that I had a medical appointment the next day and wanted to bring some goodies for the wonderful staff who took care of me through my cancer ordeal. Second, a(n embarrassing) confession: my mom helped me. She let me come over and use her kitchen because I was too terrified to contemplate the horrors that would no doubt result in my attempting unsupervised domesticity (giving the old "don't try this at home" line a delightfully ironic twist). Anyway, the point is, I ended up with a batch of red velvet cupcakes for the nurses in the chemo treatment room and a few loaves of pumpkin bread — one for my doctor, and two more as extras. And I would just like to add that my mom cautioned me, as we put the cupcakes in a large tray and covered them with foil, about not letting the foil touch the cupcakes because it would mess up the frosting.

So naturally, the next day as I was headed out of my house to my car, my arms full of about a million different things including the cupcake tray, I rested something — oh so briefly! oh how gently! — on top of the aluminum foil covering the cupcakes.

It will come as a surprise to no one that the cupcakes got messed up. (Which, however, did not prevent them from being eaten.)

And that's not even the worst of it. That morning, I also had to wrap the pumpkin bread for my doctor, since I hadn't done it the night before because of wanting to wait til the bread cooled. But first I cut a small piece off of one of the loaves to taste it and make sure I wasn't about to give my doctor something that tasted like, oh, say chemotherapy. Thankfully the bread actually tasted awesome, so I wrapped them all in plastic wrap, but added an outside layer of tissue paper graced by a pretty Christmas ribbon and a card on the one for my doctor. Then I took that one out to the car, along with the aforementioned cupcakes and the loaf I'd cut into (which I'd decided to share with my co-workers), and drove off to my appointment.

My first inkling of trouble came after I arrived at work later that morning, when I stood in my office kitchen staring at the pumpkin bread loaf I'd just unwrapped and not seeing the place where I'd sliced it. The dreaded confirmation of my mistake came when I got home and discovered that the third loaf, which I'd put aside for someone else, also did not bear any telltale signs of violence. That could only mean one thing.

Somehow I had managed to give my doctor — for Christmas, and also as a thank-you for helping to save my life— a loaf of delicious pumpkin bread from which I had already eaten. Classy.

My mom, bless her heart, made me feel a tiny bit better about the whole thing after I wailed to her about it over gchat and told her I felt like an idiot. Turns out she was making pumpkin bread today, and after getting the bread pans in the oven, she walked through the kitchen and found the can of pumpkin still sitting, unopened, on the table. She had forgotten to blend it in with the other ingredients! And since pumpkin is kind of a key ingredient in pumpkin bread, she had to haul the bread pans out of the oven, dump the hot mix into a bowl, add in the pumpkin, pour the mix back into the pans, pop them back in the oven and then hope for the best.

"Now who's the idiot?" she typed.

Oh, don't you worry, Mom. It's still me. I'm just a slightly comforted one, that's all.

* bonus Christmas points if you get the movie reference!

We Interrupt The Last Weekend Before Christmas For...

...a big sigh of relief! The CT scan went well on Tuesday, and (even better) so did the results. The doctor left me a voice mail on Thursday and let's just say it included the words, "great scan" and "no sign of cancer."

Just what I wanted to hear! Whew.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled holiday chaos. Thank you.

Health Status Update, Blah Blah Blah

Actually I don't have that much to report. I'm doing pretty well, and feeling good, thank God. My CT scan is tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. — my first followup cancer screening since my all-clear PET scan back in May. I'm not as nervous about it as I thought I would be, thanks no doubt to the love and prayers of family and friends. (Where I would be without all those who have supported me throughout this past year, I don't even like to think.)

Anyway, I have to be up early to get ready for the test (i.e., to drink an entire bottle of contrast dye — yum!), so I'm heading to bed soon. Goodnight, with kisses from the frogg princess...

Cold Snap

As the nations continue to deliberate in Copenhagen about what to do to stop the temperatures from rising all over the planet, I'm sitting here in my living room, bundled up in a long-john T-shirt under my regular T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, a beanie on my head, and a thick cozy scarf around my neck.

The temperature in my town right now is 49 degrees Fahrenheit. Do you know what the temperature is in Copenhagen right now? 43 degrees Fahrenheit. In other words, DENMARK is only a tiny bit colder right now than SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.

Someone obviously forgot to give the Golden State the global warming memo.

Now that I think of it though, Copenhagen in winter seems like a strange choice for a global warming conference, doesn't it? Oh, I know they are calling it a "Climate Change Conference", but that's probably because Copenhagen starts with a "C" and so do "Climate", "Change" and "Conference." And everyone knows that alliteration is hot. But I mean, honestly, it's a little hard to swallow the idea that the world is about to burn up into a raging fireball when outside snow might decide to start falling at any moment. If I were in charge of the event, I'd run away to Tahiti. But if I were caught and forced to actually do my job of planning the conference, then I'd suggest meeting in the Sahara in July. Believe me, by the end of a week in the desert at the height of summer, some new policies would be in place.

In the meantime, I'm voting for any legislation that makes time travel legal, so we can speed up winter and get summer going again. Stat!

Here's Some Food for Thought...

...since you wouldn't want to actually eat any of it. (Although I admit to being personally intrigued by "It seems Honey.")

Holiness Burns

The desire to see the resurrected Lord Jesus with one's very own eyes has a long and respectable tradition, starting with one of Jesus' very own friends. I speak, of course, of Doubting Thomas, whose one claim to fame (poor guy) is for missing out on one of the Lord's first live appearance post-crucifixion, and then offering up this classic response when his fellow disciples told him about it: "Yeah, well, I'll believe it when I see it." (OK, those may not have been his exact words, but they might as well have been.) Frankly, I think most of us can relate.

Fortunately for Thomas, he got his chance — Jesus appeared to him later in the flesh, and he believed. The rest of us, unfortunately, have to make do with stuff like this.

Well, I'm sorry, but the bottom of an iron does not the Shroud of Turin make (although admittedly it might do a good job of smoothing out any of the relic's wrinkles).

To be fair, I have a superstitious streak myself, so I guess I can't make too much fun of people who take these "appearances" seriously. I mean, I may not see Jesus in inanimate objects, but I have to make a conscious effort not to get nervous when I get an offer for a pre-paid cremation in the mail. (I think I'm up to at least five of them now. Woo-hoo.) Never mind the time I pulled into a parking space and found that the car parked next to me belonged to a coroner. I believe that was in the same week of getting one of the pre-paid cremation offers, too. Fun.

But it does seem to me that there's a fundamental difference between alleged omens and dubiously shaped burn marks on potato chips, pancakes and now this iron. I don't know what the difference is yet, but I'm working on it.

(By the way, isn't it weird how Jesus mostly appears in food form? Then again, he did say, "This is my body, take and eat," which I guess is weird enough in itself. But still. The Bread of Life and the Pancake of Life so don't have the same ring.)

On another note (yeah, I know, finally!), how does one score a job where you get paid for digging up bizarre "news"? Not to mention making up your own statistics in support of your story.

Thankful

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I love Thanksgiving. As a holiday, I mean. (Two words: pumpkin pie. Two more: yeah, baby!)

However, as an act, the actual giving of thanks, well, I tend to like it in theory a lot more than I manage to accomplish it in practice. I wish that weren't the case, but too often it is.

This year, though, helped me a little bit in the whole "being thankful" department. Granted, that was after it threw me first into the "being scared I was going to die" department, but hey, go with what works, I guess. And the truth is, I don't think I'd ever given much deep thought to how thankful I am simply to exist, to be alive, until cancer forced me to realize the unwelcome fact that someday I won't be. Cancer may not be the thing that kills me, but something will. And there's nothing I can do about it.

I know that probably sounds both morbid and cliche, but oh well. It's still true. That's what makes me so grateful every time I slow down enough to notice that yes, I am in fact still breathing and what a miraculous gift that is.

Also, when I look back on this year, it seems like every horrible thing that happened opened a door to something good. Here's a few examples of what I mean:

Finding out I had cancer = horrible.
Friends and family who rallied around me, held me, prayed for me, encouraged me = wonderful.

Losing my hair = horrible.
Finding out to my surprise that I actually like how I look with short hair when it started to grow back = pretty cool.

Chemotherapy = HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE.
Friends who sat with me during treatments and parents who cared for me after each one = AWESOME, AWESOME, AWESOME.

I could go on. And since it IS Thanksgiving Day, I will! I'm thankful that my cancer symptoms waited to flare up until after I'd returned from Thailand; just a week sooner, and I might have had to be treated in a Bangkok hospital, awfully far from friends and family. I'm thankful for the doctor and nurses who took care of me and never made me feel like just another number, and never rushed through spending time with me to answer questions and concerns. I'm thankful for the countless people (even some strangers) who told me I looked beautiful even when I had no hair, barely any eyebrows, and just a handful of lonely eyelashes left. Though I still can't run as I used to, I'm thankful that I can run at all.

And I'm so, so thankful that I'm in remission.

I don't know what the future holds and I confess I still get scared. My CT scan is in a few weeks and I don't know what I'll do if, God forbid, anything turns up. But today, I'm working on being thankful. And you know what? It's not nearly as hard as I thought. After all, there is so much for me to be thankful for. Amen.

With kisses, hugs, and lots of thanksgiving love from the frogg princess...

The Right Frogg is Right Here, Larry!

When I saw a link today on CNN.com to a Larry King blog post entitled "Blog From A Frog", for one crazy moment I thought that perhaps at last the world at large was about to discover the incredible genius so often on display for lucky readers of the frogg files (see, for example, my last post). I mean, how many other blogs from frogs can there really be?

Apparently, at least one. Boo.

Oh well. Someday, kids. Just you wait...

This Post Needs A Better Title

I've noticed a weird phenomenon at my favorite local bookstore on my last few visits there. The store has two entrances — one opens onto the street, the other leads to the parking lot in the back. There's a register located by both entrances, but the one near the parking lot always has a long line, while the one on the other side is home to a lonely clerk with nobody to wait on. I've wondered why this is the case, until this Saturday when I finally asked the clerk at the streetside register what was the deal.

"People say it's too far from the parking lot," he said.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, I strolled from the streetside register all the way to the parking lot doors in about 30 seconds, maybe less. So that should tell you something about the size of the store. Also, as the clerk pointed out, "I can see the other doors from here." Hmm.

So yeah, I just realized this story doesn't have what you'd call a "point." I know that's really unusual for my blog, but sometimes these things happen.

On a not entirely unrelated note, it's Monday.

Forget 2012

The Apocalypse is already here.

Of Square Burgers and Shooting Stars

So I'm watching TV tonight, and an ad comes on for Wendy's and not for the first time, I find myself wondering, "Why does Wendy's make square burgers?"

I know what you're thinking: "Just Google it." But the truth is, I'm kind of tired of all the answers to life, the universe and everything being Google-able. Or seeming to be, at any rate. I don't know if I ever thought I'd say this, and it sounds weird, but I'm tired of information that's right there at my fingertips; that costs nothing to learn but the few minutes — or seconds, more like — that it takes to type my question into a search engine and scan through the links that pop up in response. I'd like to reserve the right to wonder into perpetuity what the heck Wendy's is THINKING with their wrongly-shaped burgers. Unfortunately, I can't do this.

Yes, I caved and Googled it and now I'm stuck with my lack of ignorance on this important and terribly relevant subject. You, however, can remain blissfully unaware of the answer for as long as you choose, assuming you didn't already know it. This is because I'm not going to tell it to you.

Please, it's the least I can do. Or not do, as the case may be.

In other news, I didn't really get enough sleep last night. I'm sure you would never have guessed, based on the previous paragraphs' display of overwhelming perspicacity. But in my defense, it was because I was out watching the Leonid meteor shower from 12:30a.m. to 1:30a.m. That does not, by the way, include my driving time. I had to go an hour away from my house in order to clearly see that yes, the night sky actually does have stars in it. (How I love living in Los Angeles.)

It was a good night, though. I'm a sucker for shooting stars, and I saw quite a few good ones. As tired I was (and now am), the sleep I lost was worth the opportunity to catch even one or two (at least to me). Looking up into the depths of the sky while waiting for the next meteor to blaze its way through earth's atmosphere, I realized, not for the first time, just how ridiculously small we all are, and how vastly incomprehensible our existence in this universe really is.

I believe that's called a sense of wonder and awe. Thankfully, Google's got nothing on either of those — except for links to their definitions on dictionary.com and Wikipedia. And that doesn't count.

Wedding Recap

So at last, the wedding!

I drove up last Thursday intending to help the cowgirl with whatever last little details needed to get done before The Big Day on Saturday. Turned out that involved staying up til I don't remember what time, tying raffia onto 200+ little jars of honey (the wedding favors). If you think that doesn't sound like a big deal, you either have no idea what raffia is (hello, male readers!) or you are much better at tying raffia than I will ever be (hello, cowgirl!).

But anyway, we got it done eventually and went to bed, grateful at last for some rest... until we were woken up at about 5:30 a.m. by the dulcet sounds of a rooster crowing. Over and over again. Judging by the volume, I'd have said he was right under our pillows. Luckily for him, he wasn't.

We had hair appointments that day, which included my first haircut since I had to shave it all off back in March. After that, the hours flew by in a whirlwind of manicures, pedicures, a Michael Jackson TV tribute show, the rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner and more raffia. No, I'm kidding about the raffia. At least I think I am. It was all a bit of a blur by that point.

The day of the wedding dawned nice and clear. I know this because I was pretty much up at dawn (again), thanks to our friendly neighborhood rooster. The cowgirl expressed her enthusiasm for being awake at such a godly hour as follows:



Also pictured is my sister-in-law (left) who, not long after this photo was taken, proceeded to get all domestic and make monkey bread for everyone. This, frankly, amazed me. I mean, not only would it not occur to me to start baking before I was even properly awake myself, but it would not occur to me to bake anytime, anywhere, period. And even if by some incredible miracle it did, I'd have no trouble restraining myself and saying instead, "Make your own monkey bread, people." (I suspect these are reasons #456-458 why the frogg is still single, by the way.)

Here's some of the gang, enjoying the (deliciously gooey) results of my sister-in-law's labors:



Next it was time for hair and makeup. First it was my other beautiful sister's turn:



And now here's the cowgirl, curlers and all:



As we were all prettying ourselves (not that I'm saying we needed to, of course), outside everything was getting set up:





This picture was just too classic:



Here's me and the cowgirl:



We had a sandwich tray, but apparently that wasn't enough for me:



Yummy flowers! But hey, if I could have snuck some of the cake (and cupcakes!) early, I would have:



The finishing touches:



After that, I don't have much in the way of pictures, seeing as how I was kind of in the wedding. But I can tell you everything went off beautifully. Well, OK, there was one snag at the beginning. The cowgirl had had the brilliant idea of surprising the groom by arriving with her attendants in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. This was cool in theory. In practice, it left something to be desired; namely, the idea actually working. As soon as the wagon in which we were riding entered the wedding site, the wagon wheels sank into the slightly muddy lawn, and the horses (who were not what you'd call spring chickens) decided they really weren't being paid enough for the gig, and just gave up. Unfortunately (or fortunately, I suppose), most of the guests couldn't really see us from where they were, so no one had a clue what was going on. I'm not even sure they saw the horses.

Another snag involved the unity candles and the wind, and if I have to explain why candles and wind don't mix, then we're all in trouble.

There was also the loud train whistle that blasted through the air during a song performance and continued into the pastor's talk. But in the grand scheme of things, these hiccups were so minor. And to her credit, the cowgirl did not dissolve into Bridezilla-esque hysterics. I think she was actually relieved in a way that things went wrong. It brought some humor into the proceedings, and that's always good.

The rest of the evening went extremely well. Lots of dancing and, at one point, what looked like chicken fighting. Fun times! Also, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I would just like to say that I probably gave the only toast in the history of toasting that included the words, "castrated a pig."

Oh, and just for the record, yours truly did catch the bouquet. But don't get your hopes up for anything — I also caught it at my aunt's wedding when I was 11.

Me Am The Cancer!

OK, so I want to write about the cowgirl's (awesome) wedding. I do. And I will. But frankly, today was a bit rough. I've been struggling with fears lately that my cancer will come back, and today I had a hard time thinking about much else. So finally tonight, I visited engrish.com on a mission to find some much-needed comic relief. But I was still too wound up to really enjoy the mangled English the way I usually do. Then, for the first time, I noticed a button off to the left-hand side of the home page that said "Make your own Engrish!" Curious, I clicked on it and found instructions for (duh) making your own Engrish. Basically you go to babelfish and you type in a sentence in English, translate it to Japanese, then cut and paste the Japanese characters into the original box and translate it back to English.

I figured I'd give it a go and see what happened. So I typed in, "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" and here's what came out when I did the translation:

"The orphan of fast brown jumped over the lazy dog."

That made me smile. Encouraged, I typed, "I went to the store to buy a camel, but instead I bought a cat." Where that sentence came from, I have no idea. For one thing, I'd never buy a cat. I'm allergic. But I (shockingly) digress.

Anyway, here's the translation: "I did buying the camel to the store, but the cat was bought to substituting."

OK, definitely starting to feel better. Then, after a moment's thought, I wrote, "I am scared I will get cancer again." And this is what popped up: "I having made can to have, me am the cancer which is obtained for the second time."

Mission so accomplished.

Now it's your turn. Don't lie, you know you want to try it. Just promise to post the results in the comments below. Come on, I can use as many good laughs as I can get.

Alright, back on track with wedding news tomorrow or Thursday at the latest. Thanks for your patience! Or, to put it another way: your perseverance thank you!

The Deed Is Done!

Well, the cowgirl and cowboy are now officially hitched, and the wedding couldn't have been more beautiful and fun if I'd planned it myself. (Actually, if I'd planned it, it would have turned out something like this. Yes, horrifying and more than a little disturbing.)

More details to come...

Countdown to the Cowgirl's Wedding

I'm off tomorrow to California's enchanting central valley to help the cowgirl finish getting ready for her upcoming nuptials on Saturday. Does anyone else think the word "nuptials" sounds weird? And has anyone noticed how many times I've used the word "weird" in the past few posts?

Anyway.

I'm very excited for the weekend and can't wait to procrastinate on updating the blog with details about it when I get back. Until then, you know the drill — be good and miss me, my darlings! WIth all the usual love and kisses from your friendly neighborhood frogg princess...

Playing Catch-Up

Contrary to what you might think given the length of time since my last post and now, Boston did not kill me. Neither am I still there. In fact, I've been back for more than a week, but life has been going at this pace that is somewhere between not-slow-at-all and totally-insane, so there you have my reason for not updating the blog sooner. That, and the fact that I'm trying very hard to win the "Least Consistent Blogger of 2009" award. If it doesn't exist, I'm going to be bummed.

The rest of my Boston trip was great, though. And by the way, all the doom-gloomers who are busily prophesying the end of reading and literacy and books and so on would have been heartened by the many people who turned out for the inaugural Boston Book Festival on October 24. Especially when you factor in the fact that it was pouring rain most of the day, and when it wasn't raining, the wind was blowing. (Actually, sometimes the wind was blowing while it was raining.)

One of my treasured book festival memories occurred as I was signing up at one booth to win a free Kindle. Not that I am in favor of the Kindle per se, but hey, I'm as American as the next person, which means if it's free, I'll take it, thanks, and then sell it on eBay for a tidy profit. (Actually I'm lying about selling stuff on eBay. I'm way too lazy for that.) But the point is, as I was signing up for the free Kindle raffle, I overheard not one, but two people ask, "What's a Kindle?"

Hallelujah.

Another memorable moment for me was the entire John Hodgman/Tom Perotta conversation, held in the hallowed and gorgeous sanctuary of the Old South Church on Copley Square. For those of you who don't know who John Hodgman is, he's the PC on the "I'm a Mac/I'm a PC" commercials. For those of you who don't know who Tom Perotta is, he's written some books, one of which was the novel Election, which got turned into a movie. I don't really remember much about the presentation except that it was very funny, and contained three of my favorite quotes of the day:

1) John Hodgman: "I always wanted my own megachurch."

2) Tom Perotta: "I just wonder what it's like to be disturbingly ubiquitous."

3) John Hodgman: "It's nerd time, but the law still applies."

You kinda had to be there, especially for that last one. But trust me, it was hilarious.

There's a lot more I could say about the book festival, but this post is already long, and there's still a whole 'nother day of the trip to talk about, which encompassed a drive to Maine. Argh, I suck at blogging! OK, we're doing the rest in pictures. Here we go:



That's a pic of the Visitor's Center at Kittery, ME, one of the nicest rest stops I've ever been to. It was there that we learned about the existence of Lenny the Life-Size Chocolate Moose, who resides at a candy shop in Scarborough, about an hour from the Massachusetts border. Of course, we had to go see him:



Since Lenny also lives not far from Portland, we cruised up there for a late lunch. (A fact that makes it possible for me to boast that I've been to Portland, OR, and Portland, ME, less than six months apart from each other. Because, you know, that's something to boast about.)

Here's Portland in all its cuteness:



And here's me in all of mine:



I don't know if you can read the sign, but it says, "DEMILLO'S LONG WHARF SERVING NICE PEOPLE SINCE 1954." I wonder what they do to not-nice people. Not serve them, I guess.

Here's a sign I saw outside a store:



I think that speaks for itself.

On the way back to Boston, we drove through Kennebunkport, which was pretty much adorable. And then there was the coast:



As a copywriter with clients in the travel industry, there have been numerous times where I've had to write about the New England coast even though I've never had the opportunity to go there until now (thank God for my advanced degree in fiction writing!). So I'm relieved to note that the many adjectives I've deployed to describe said coast (stunning, spectacular, dramatic, etc.) are, in fact, accurate. (Although you wouldn't know it from the picture. Oh well.)

Anyway, there it is, my not-so-quick Boston sum-up that still leaves much to the imagination. And I'll leave you now to employ that as you will, but not before extending my deep gratitude to the gracious friends who let me take over their living room during the entirety of my stay, not to mention showed me around (and even, in one case, made the supreme sacrifice of climbing the Bunker Hill monument's 294 steps with me). Thank you, thank you, thank you!

OK, back to all of our regularly scheduled lives...

In Boston!

OK, I haven't been in Boston long, but I have to say - so far, it's definitely near the top of my "Coolest Cities I've Been" list. And I'm not just talking about the weather (though admittedly it was a little on the frigid side today for this California girl).

Here's a quick list of what I did today:

1) Walked the entire Freedom Trail.

Whew!

What, is that not enough? Come on, it was 5 miles roundtrip! Alright, alright, here are some specifics for all you details-lovers out there:

1) Took the Red Line to Boston Common, where we saw a bunch of kids running around screaming and collecting autumn leaves. At least I think that's what they were doing, but it was hard to tell amidst all the running and screaming. I then lost my 7-day bus pass, all because I ignored a homeless man who was yelling at me.

Hmm, that sounds too weird to even try to explain, so I'll leave it at that and move on to

2) Checked out the cemetery right next to Boston Common, where Paul Revere and many other famous people are buried. Here we learned that Paul Revere would never have shouted "The British are coming" on the night when he supposedly did his midnight ride (but kind of didn't really), because at that time everyone in the colonies was still British and it would have been like running down Mass Ave and shouting, "The Americans are coming!"; i.e., very strange. What he actually would have said I can't tell you, because we learned all this by eavesdropping on a guided tour and it just seems unsporting. Sorry.

3) Visited the Old North Church, where we learned that the oldest church in the country is actually in New Mexico, courtesy of a man with an iPhone who was helping to settle a debate between two North Church docents upon whom we - OK, I - was eavesdropping.

4) Climbed the 294 steps up to the top of the Bunker Hill monument which, it turns out, is actually on top of Breed's Hill. But did I mention the number 294? I just want to make sure, because that's a lot of steps. 294, to be exact.

5) Visited the USS Constitution, but didn't take a tour because we got impatient at how long we were waiting (outside, in the cold) and got out of the line. Of course, the moment we did, they took the next group of people, which would have included us had we been more patient, and we probably would have been more patient if we had been less cold. But alas. So we consoled ourselves with a visit to the USS Constitution museum instead. Not quite as experientially historic, but definitely warmer.

5) Bought cannolis at Mike's Pastry. I should tell you that before I came on this trip, I asked a bunch of friends who had either a) lived in Boston or b) been to Boston, what things they would recommend me to do/see. Pretty much every one of them said to go to Mike's Pastry and try their cannolis. I now know why.

6) Used the restroom in the Omni Parker Hotel. The Omni Parker is famous for many things, not least of which is the fact that John Wilkes Booth stayed there 10 days before he killed President Lincoln. (I'd like to say that someday it will be famous for the fact that I made a pit stop there, but chances are that's not too likely. Oh well.)

So, can I say "Whew" now? In fact, let's all say it together: "WHEW!"

Thank you.

Off to Boston

Well, friends, I'm heading out on a red-eye to Boston tonight for a (much needed) long-weekend vacation. I'm quite excited, as I've never been to Boston before, and have wanted to go for ages. Plus I get to catch up with old friends I haven't seen in way too long. Fun!

I haven't mapped out any sort of itinerary for my time there; I do want to walk the Freedom Trail and visit Boston Common and whatnot. But I've been very lackadaisical about researching things to do. Mostly what I want to do is chill out and enjoy being someplace that is totally NOT California. Oh, and maybe hit up a book festival that just happens to be occurring on Saturday. (And no, I didn't plan my trip with the festival in mind; I didn't even know about it until a couple weeks ago! Although it's funny, isn't it — I went to Portland to see Powell's, now I'm traveling across country and going to a book festival! I am such a nerd.)

Not sure if I'll have a chance to update while I'm away, so if not, enjoy the rest of the week, be good and miss me, my darlings.

With love, and of course kisses, from the frogg princess...

Towards a Better Commodity of Faith

I don't know about you, but if I were going to run a campaign to raise awareness about atheism, I'm not sure I'd have picked New York City as the kick-off advertising venue. Seems like a waste of money. I mean, aren't you kind of preaching to the choir? (So to speak.)

Not that I am a particularly big fan of religious advertising, either. But aside from those God billboards they had a few years back, I can't really think of any I've seen that weren't on church grounds. (Maybe someone else is less oblivious to their surroundings than I am? If so, feel free to correct me in the comments below). Anyway, I'm probably more troubled by the commodification of faith that is so richly on display in your local Christian bookstore. Even the most die-hard Christian bookstore-shopper has to admit, the idea of reducing Christian faith to a cute blurb on a keychain made in China (!) is at least a little bit weird.

And by the way, that reminds me. My "favorite" pastor, Joel Osteen, has a new book out: It's Your Time. Please don't buy it. You could spend your hard-earned, recession-plagued cash on something so much more profitable. Something like this, perhaps.

Perplexity

OK, so I have to admit I get a little miffed these days when I come across articles about ways to reduce your risk for cancer, etc. (and there are lots of these articles out there). Before I got diagnosed with lymphoma, I could have checked off every box on the "what to do to not get cancer" chart. I am not a smoker. I ate pretty healthy; was practically vegetarian, in fact. I was active, running at least 15 miles every week, sometimes more. And don't even get me started on drinking green tea.

But none of that protected me from cancer. I was the poster-child for not getting it, and I got it. And there's no way to guarantee I won't get it again.

I don't understand.

I have a CT scan scheduled for December as part of my followup testing. I know I'll be nervous about it when the time comes. The thought of ever having to go through chemo again is so awful, I can't let myself contemplate it for more than about two seconds. Especially now that I'm feeling better than I've felt in a long time. As recently as this past August there were days when I could barely walk. Now I've started running again, and getting back in shape. I'm planning to run a half-marathon next year. And yesterday I went on a hike that was 2 hours pretty much straight uphill, and barely broke a sweat! I am the picture of perfect health.

Yeah. Perfect health with a biopsy scar and at least two more years of cancer testing still ahead of her.

What a weird world.

Happy Birthday To The Frogg Files!

I didn't mention it in my last post as I had slightly more important matters to blog about, but the frogg files just celebrated its fifth anniversary yesterday. Yay! Although when I say "celebrated", I really mean "did nothing to comemmorate the event". I realize that's not how most people define the word "celebrate", but welcome to my blog, where words mean pretty much whatever I want them to. I mean honestly, what good is an MFA in creative writing if I can't redefine the English language at will, right? (Please do NOT answer that.)

Anyway.

I've looked back through the archives every so often, and am bemused at some of the stuff I've written about. Sometimes I made myself laugh, and those posts remain favorites of mine to this day. Other times, I made myself cry, and those posts kind of make me laugh now, when they don't make me want to bury my head in the sand in embarrassment. But one thing's for sure: If anyone had told me five years ago that I'd still be writing my little heart out at this site, I don't think I'd have believed them. And yet, here we are!

Many thanks to all my lovely readers. I wouldn't be here without you! Well, OK, I would. But I might not be writing this blog, and that would be a shame, because it's been a lot of fun overall. And I consider it an honor to have merited your attention (although you might not guess it from how many posts I've devoted to totally random and inane observations; i.e., most of them).

ANYway. I'm not sure how much longer the ride will last, but I guess I'll take it one day at a time, as always. Hope you'll stick around!

With kisses, and a big hug, from the frogg princess...

I Survived The Cowgirl's Bridal Shower

Yesterday was my sister the cowgirl's bridal shower. As the maid of honor, I was nominally in charge of the event; in actual fact, I was graciously, kindly and most expertly managed by the other two women involved in putting it together — probably because they knew that nothing would ever get done if it was all on me to do it. I am not what you'd call a good party planner. I run from that sort of responsibility in total terror as a rule, but this time I really didn't see any way of getting out of it, what with being the aforementioned maid of honor and all.

Just kidding. Sort of. The truth is, I don't usually like being in charge of events because I'm afraid of screwing it up and not getting everything exactly perfect — and in this case, the stakes were rather high because I definitely didn't want to let the cowgirl down, of all people. For one thing, she's my sister and I love her and would hate to throw her a crappy bridal shower. For another, she's way too handy with a rope and spurs and God knows what else, so pretty much the last thing I'd want to do is get her mad at me for throwing her a crappy bridal shower.

You see my dilemma.

But thanks to the other people involved, everything went off quite well. The food was great (of course, since I had nothing to do with making it) and the weather cooperated by being not-too-hot, but just right so that we could all eat outside in the courtyard at my parents' house as planned. The gift-giving time was also lots of fun, though I freaked out at the beginning a little bit because I had forgotten all about the fact that you're supposed to make a "bouquet" out of gift ribbons for the bride until a friend asked me, "So who's making the ribbon bouquet?" Uh, oops. Thankfully someone was there who was good at that sort of thing, and I happily delegated the job.

Unfortunately, no one wraps anything with ribbons much anymore; it's all gift bags these days, and we realized after the third or fourth gift that that might spell trouble not only for the bouquet, but for another bridal tradition — the one about the bride having as many kids as ribbons she breaks. But eventually she did get a few ribbon-tied gifts, and boy did she work hard at breaking those suckers — the ribbons, I mean, not the gifts. She got up to about four, after which point, when she was struggling to break a particularly stubborn ribbon, I said, "You're already going to have four kids, how many do you want?"

"I don't want any!" she said, tugging away at a particularly stubborn ribbon.

"Then why on earth are you breaking the ribbons?" I said as everyone kind of laughed, but kind of didn't because I think they weren't sure whether she was joking or not.

She gave another heroic tug on the ribbon and shouted, "I'm doing this for you guys!"

She's way more selfless than I am, that's all I can say.

Anyway, it ended up being a great day, with time spent praying for her, laughing with her, and just enjoying being together. I'd post pictures, but um, I forgot my camera (I know, I know... I'm probably a strong candidate for lamest maid of honor ever). So you'll just have to imagine it, I suppose, until people forward me some pics from their cameras. Which I probably won't post actually, because by then I'll probably have wedding pics to share instead! Oh well.

Oh and in case you're wondering, she made it up to seven broken ribbons, so... looks like one of these days, I'll have my hands full being the coolest aunt in the world.

Classic Confusion

Will someone explain to me why my "Chamber Music, Baroque period" Pandora station insists on throwing in music by Mozart (Classical period) and Bela Fleck (contemporary bluegrass/folk)? I mean, don't get me wrong. I like Mozart and Bela Fleck. And OK, at least Mozart is pretty much in the same general ballpark. But it's a little weird to go from, say, Brandenburg Concerto #5: Allegro, to the Clarinet Polka (?!).

Maybe it's just me.

Some Like It Hot

Everyone keeps saying, "Isn't it great that the weather has finally cooled off?"

I smile and nod, but I don't really mean it. Inside I'm sad. I miss summer already...

I Survived My Night In The Cemetery

So the Bon Iver concert was quite awesome, and the logistical negatives were surprisingly minimal, considering it was an event located in the heart of Hollywood. The only real "hiccup" happened when we arrived at the cemetery only to be told by a security guard that they had no more parking available, but if we drove about a block away, we could park in another lot. What's wrong with that, you ask? Well, nothing really — if your definition of "a block" is "a quarter mile." Let's just say that ours wasn't.

But other than that, it was a great night. We arrived at about 2:30 a.m. and met up with friends who had staked a claim "near the palm tree," as they said — which was funny because there are kind of a lot of palm trees in the Hollywood cemetery. However, we did find them, and just in time to catch the end of Bottle Rocket, which was being projected on a large wall for the benefit of anyone who felt like what they really wanted to do at almost 3 in the morning was watch a movie (instead of, say, sleep).

After the movie, we were treated to a DJ set "specially selected" for the evening by Justin Vernon aka Bon Iver, which was probably another way of saying that they hooked up his iPod to some speakers and set it to random shuffle or something. (Kidding. Sort of.) Then, another movie, this time part of the renowned Planet Earth documentary. At least, I hear it's renowned. I've never actually seen any of it myself. And quite honestly, I still haven't — I was asleep or just plain not paying attention for most of it that night/morning.

At 5:15 a.m. some Buddhist monks provided their version of Gregorian chant (I suppose) and blessed the stage. And then finally, Bon Iver took the stage at 6 a.m., starting off with a version of his song "Lump Sum" that made me shiver.

Or it could have been the cold morning air and fog, I guess. But either way, it was good. The whole performance was just fantastic, and I'm really glad I went.

Now, what "crazy" thing can I do next... any suggestions?? (Oh, I'm going to Boston next month! Does that count?)

Me vs Me

Tonight I am doing something kind of bizarrely out of character. I'm going to the Bon Iver Sunrise Concert @ Hollywood Forever cemetery.

It's not so much the going-to-the-concert part that's out of character, though goodness knows I don't go to very many. It's the fact that I'm actually meeting up with friends at 1:30 a.m. to head over there so we can basically camp out — yes, in the cemetery — until the concert starts at 5:20 a.m. tomorrow.

Now, the old, pre-cancer me would have been like, "That's crazy" when my friend told me she was going. The old me would have mentally ticked through the list of all the reasons why it would be an inconvenient, exhausting hassle and come to the conclusion that there would be no possible way that any performance could be good enough to balance out all the logistical negatives of such an endeavor. The old me would have said, "I am too old." (I know. Sad, right?)

The current me thought, "Hey, I like Bon Iver! That sounds awesome!" (Thank God.)

Turned out my friend had a friend who had extra tickets. So I decided to buy one. Because frankly, sometimes it's just better to say "Why not?" than "Why bother?" And by the way, I'm so glad I had to go through cancer to come to this oh-so-profound conclusion about life. Argh!

(On the other hand, "Why bother?" is a question that I fervently hope will always apply to, say, bunjy jumping. Because if it ever doesn't, I really will worry about my sanity. I mean, a lot more than usual.)

Alright, both me's need to at least attempt to take a nap before they — I mean, I — go to this shindig. So good night, my lovelies, with kisses as always from the frogg princess...

Apocalypse Now?

Yet not quite the end of the world as we know it.

(Via bookforum)

Coping

Managed to hold out on the chocolate today til 10:45, but then I couldn't stand it anymore — I was all over that Reese's. And I'm already thinking of having another! Sigh. Yeah, it's been that sort of week...

It's also been the sort of week that drives me to drink coffee instead of the tea that I generally much prefer, but I guess it could be worse. It could be bourbon. (Mmmm, bourbon... okay, that definitely has to wait til later.)

Speaking of Religion...

...is it sacrilegious to thank God for the existence of engrish.com? Because I can't help it; I do.

You Know It's Going To Be A Tough Day When...

...you find yourself reaching for the chocolate (mini dark Reese's PB cups!) at 9:30 a.m.

Oh for God's Sake!

I've been pretty interested in the subject of prayer for the past couple of years. Not that I've been good at actually praying per se, but I've wanted to understand it — what it's for, why we should do it (assuming we should), what it's supposed to accomplish (if anything). My interest became vastly sharpened what with getting cancer and all, which threw me for a few loops (to say the least) in the faith department. Somewhere around the middle of my treatment, I was probably an agnostic, though not at all particularly happy about it.

Anyway, I'm back to being a Christian, if a somewhat conflicted one, but hey, that's been par for the course for about the last decade, so no huge surprises there. Also, I'm back to having a desire to pray (which was lacking through a good part of the past year), and I'm currently a sucker for any writing on the subject. So naturally when I saw the article The Right Way to Pray? on the nytimes.com Web site, I clicked on it immediately. And was almost immediately discouraged, thanks to the following quote by a man named Daniel Henderson:

Prayer is a lot more than reciting words. It requires mastering both theory and technique.

Because I don't know about you, but I can't think of anything I need more than another set of theories and techniques to get me through this crazy thing called life.

Then there was this observation from the editor-in-chief at beliefnet.com:

In a way, prayer has become its own religion in this society.

Hmm. So let me get this straight — prayer, which was once supposed to be the conduit to God, simply a form of communication, is now possibly replacing God as an object of worship. Which is weird, but welcome to the world of religion.

I have a book on prayer by Richard Foster. It lists out the many different types of prayer and explains each one, along with suggestions for how to practice it. At some point as I made my way through the book, I was like, how on earth are you supposed to pray all these different kinds of prayers? I mean what, do you make a schedule: Monday = Prayer of Examen; Tuesday = Prayer of Tears (yes, that's a type of prayer, apparently); Wednesday = Simple Prayer (no, there isn't a type called "Complicated Prayer", surprisingly enough, though maybe with all these types, the complication comes in naturally on its own); and so on and on and on.

I just want to pray, for God's sake.

Back to the article, I found myself feeling more and more bummed as I read on, until I got to the last page wherein the reporter goes to a church that prompts the following reaction after he has a few conversations with kids who tell him about the people they've been praying for and who (whom?) they've seen get healed:

There are some 300,000 churches in America, and I could have picked any one to attend on Easter morning, but I liked being in this one. Especially the kids. They didn’t need Reverend Henderson’s prayer techniques, or the high-tech mantras of the Brooklyn Tabernacle. Their prayers weren’t Rabbi Gellman’s suburban Jewish prayers of Thanks! offered to whom it may concern. They didn’t pray to de-center their egos or find transcendence or to set off on a lifelong therapeutic spiritual journey. They prayed to a God with whom they were on a first-name basis, and they believed their prayers gave them power, which they used on behalf of their asthmatic sisters and infirm grandparents and a kid they knew with burns on his body. Sitting in church on Easter morning, I realized that I was probably never going to become a praying man. But if, by some miracle, I ever do, I hope my prayers will be like the prayers of the kids I met at the Love church in Berkeley Springs. Straight-up Gimme! on behalf of people who really need the help.

That cheered me up. I hope the same thing, on my better days.

Of course, I still don't really "get" prayer. I don't understand why some prayers "work" and others... well, don't. But the truth is, I can't NOT pray. Believe me, I've tried. And at times, I've managed to go quite a long time without it. But eventually I would start again, in spite of myself. I guess I do want to connect with God, if he's there. And maybe that's all prayer really is — a point of connection.

Hmm, I almost wrote contention. Well, it may be that, too, I suppose.

Any thoughts? Mine are a bit rambling at the moment...

Blog Rant, Health Update, Chia Pets, and Pet Rocks

I have to confess, I'm pretty frustrated with my blogging of late. Have you noticed that the last two times I went on a major trip — Thailand in January, and Switzerland last month — when I came back, some sort of crisis happened that caused me to forget all about writing about the travel experience until it was kind of too late to bother? After Thailand, it was cancer; after Switzerland it was the fires in California.

So yeah, I guess you'll never know how those trips went. How lame.

On the plus side, I am continuing to improve and recover more and more every day from the chemotherapy. In fact, these past couple weeks, I've felt pretty much back to normal, at least physically. I'm no longer beset by the fatigue that weighed me down for most of the summer. I've even started running again. (Okay, jogging. Okay, okay, jogging with lots of walking breaks! But still, that's a big improvement from even just a month ago.)

I had a followup appointment with my doctor on Tuesday, and all my blood tests came back in good shape. Well, except my red and white blood cell counts are still a bit low. But the doctor said not to worry about that, and that I'm doing great. I won't see him again til December, when I'll also be having a CT scan. I can't say I'm looking forward to that, because a) before the scan I have to drink this disgusting chemical-filled crap that is supposedly "vanilla-flavored" but is actually more like "gross-flavored" and b) when I let myself think about it, I get scared, wondering what I'll do if the scan finds something again.

To be honest, deep down I don't really think it will. But if there's anything I've learned this past year it's that one never knows. And that's, well, scary.

Anyway.

Oh! I thought I'd include a few pics of myself over the past two months, so you can see how my hair is growing. I'm like a Chia pet — every day there's more hair! (By the way, did anyone ever have a Chia pet that actually "worked"? As in, grew? Come to think of it, did anyone out there ever even own a Chia pet in the first place? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?)

But yeah, so here's the first pic, taken, oh I don't know, let's say sometime in late July probably:



Yes, I know I look a little nonplussed. Well, let me tell you, there's nothing like having just had cancer to make one feel slightly ambivalent about life, the universe and everything. Now, here's the next one, taken a couple weeks or so after the first:



You know you want that faux hawk. Don't even try to deny it.

Now here's one that I took a few minutes ago:



Ch-ch-ch-chia, baby!

OK, speaking of Chias (which I seem determined to do for some unfathomable reason), I have another confession. I kind of wanted a Chia pet once upon a time. But even worse? I wanted a pet rock. And yes, I realize I could have gone out into the garden and picked up any number of rocks, stones, pebbles, what have you, but no. I wanted one that came packaged in a cute little box that was filled with straw and included instructions on how to take care of my pet. My grandma had one (why??), and I desperately wanted her to give it to me, but she didn't. I know. I almost can't even write this story down, it's so embarrassing, but there it is. I was a weird kid. Is anyone really surprised?

Update

The fires still burn, but the smoke is starting to clear. At last.

Sorry for the lack of pics, I just have no energy to fight with Blogger.

California Burning, part II

I spent quite a bit of time yesterday driving around and scoping out the situation. The Station Fire is the one that's burning closest to me and my family, but we are not in any danger at this point. I'm trying to upload some pics I took yesterday and today, but Blogger is not cooperating. Will try again tomorrow. Of course, by then, the fire may look different or be in a different location. It's breathtaking how quickly it changes.

I will say that tonight, after checking in on my parents and making sure they were OK, I headed over to La Crescenta and was stunned to see huge flames on the mountain while driving along Foothill Blvd (the main street through La Crescenta and La Canada). In all my years living in Southern California, I've never seen anything like this fire for sheer size, scope and proximity to my family. It's a little unnerving, but as I said, we are all OK and are not in any of the evacuation zones.

Will keep you posted.

California Burning

Sorry for my lack of followup on Switzerland, but Southern California is sort of on fire right now and that's been distracting me.

For the past few days I've watched from my office window as a giant plume of smoke rose up over the Angeles Crest mountains. Yesterday while I was out running errands, I saw some of the flames. And here's a photo someone took of the fire approaching the Rose Bowl where I often go to walk:

http://www.ireport.com/docs/DOC-322066

As you can imagine, it's all a little disconcerting.

The weather has been insanely hot — yesterday I thought my skin was going to blister after only a minute outside. I haven't done any walking or jogging because the air quality is so bad; everyone is being advised to stay indoors with the doors and windows shut.

This morning I woke up and our whole house smells like smoke.

I'm going to go for a drive now and check things out. Will keep you posted...

Switzerland Recap Preview, Of Sorts

I know I said in my last post that I would update my blog "tomorrow", which would have been two days ago, but obviously that didn't happen. And today doesn't even really count, because I basically have just enough time to say that I don't have time to write much. But! I'm hopeful that I may actually get a bunch of photos from Switzerland uploaded in the next day or two, so do check back. I think I've even improved my photographic capabilities since I went to Thailand in January.

For all you skeptics out there, here's a little preview:



And I didn't even try on purpose to get the real guy in the picture! Talk about your happy accidents.

Now look at this:



What? There are a lot of car tunnels in Switzerland.

OK, how about this:



Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I would just like to point out the reflection of people outside in the glass of the booth. Which actually was on purpose, I might add. I believe that's called "compositional creativity."

Or something.

Finally, here's one of my favorites:



I have no idea what those guys are, but come on. You know you would have taken a picture of them, too. Don't even try to lie.

Hey, at least they're not train tracks, people! Although, alright, I confess I took one of a train station.

OK, maybe more than one. Let's just not talk about it.

Well, I can't believe my trip is already over! As I type this, I'm about 30,000 feet in the air, taking advantage of a free trial of Delta's in-flight Wi-Fi. I'm using my iPod touch, which is not the easiest thing to type on, so I'll keep this short for now. I do, however, want to say that the Matterhorn is amazing and was worth the trip even all on its own. If you haven't seen it in person, I highly recommend it.

And no, the ride at Disneyland does not count. Sorry!

OK, gotta go. More tomorrow. Until then, have a lovely day, with kisses - as always - from the frogg princess.

In Switzerland!

Well, I finally arrived, after nearly 20 hours in transit. I won't go into the harrowing details, but let's just say that a 4-hour flight delay right at the beginning of the trip that resulted in me having to stand in an exceedingly long "customer service" line at the Delta terminal at LAX was not a good start. On the other hand, the ticket agent ended up being a wonderful person who bumped me up to business class for the domestic leg of the flight she had to switch me to, and then the emergency exit row seat of the international portion. On another other hand, though, I would simply like to ask one question: when was it exactly that flight attendants on U.S. carriers started attending the how-not-to-give-customer-service school? Just curious.

But the flight itself was pretty smooth, and the view from the plane as we descended into Zurich was very pastoral and green, which was soothing until we were nearly on the ground, at which point I thought for a moment we might actually end up landing on a grass field, because that's all I could see below us until about 30 seconds before touching down.

When I first stepped out of the terminal at the airport, I took a deep breath, seeking to fill my lungs with the pristine air of Switzerland. That's when I discovered how many people smoke here (answer: a lot). So yeah, the pristine air idea didn't really work out. Oh well.

Anyway, yesterday my brother took me on the tram to the downtown center, the Niederdorf, where I marveled at the sights — specifically the sight of the price tags on things. Let's just say most of my souvenirs will probably take up more room in my memory than in my suitcase. We also walked near the river to where it becomes the lake, and had dinner at a sort of outdoor cafe right there by the water. Actually, pretty much every restaurant and bar gets turned inside out for the summer, and everywhere you go people are hanging out at tables on the sidewalks. It's great!

Unfortunately, my energy began to flag in a major way long before we started heading home to my brother's place, and by the time we did get back I could barely move. (Even though I'm done with chemo, it seems there are some ways in which chemo is not quite done with me. Grr.)

But I'm feeling better today after a good night's sleep, and am looking forward to exploring. My brother had to work today, so I'm on my own. Planning to take a trip to St. Gallen and check out the Stiftsbiblioteck at the Abbey. (Hmm, went to Portland to see Powell's Bookstore; and the first thing on my list here in Switzerland is a library. I'm even nerdier than I thought!)

More to come...

The Future is Switzerland

In just a few days, I'm off for my second overseas trip of the year, to visit my brother in Zurich. I'm quite excited; I could use a new adventure.

So the other day I went online in search of cool things to see and do in Switzerland, and ended up (surprise, surprise) at the Web site for Swiss tourism, MySwitzerland.com. Please click on that link and then tell me what you think of their ad campaign. Because frankly, I think it's kind of weird. Just for starters, there's the tag line: "We do whatever it takes to make your vacation perfect." That's an admirable commitment, but it seems a little odd when shown against a photo of a train crossing a bridge. Are they saying that they're willing to build a picturesque bridge just for you?

Then there's the photo of the masseuse. She looks way less than thrilled to "do whatever it takes," but maybe that's just me.

My favorite is the first photo, mostly because I'm absolutely mystified in regards to what's happening in it. There's a guy lying on his back in a meadow, a box of tools on the grass beside him, and a long line of identical cows fading off into the distance. The man looks like he's using the tools to somehow tinker with a giant caldron that's hanging around the first cow's neck. This photo may take the "We do whatever it takes" slogan to whole new levels. I mean, it looks like he's building a million identical robotic-yet-amazingly-lifelike cows, presumably in an effort to make sure that your vacation is perfect—in which case I sure hope you're a fan of cows, because otherwise your vacation is going to suck.

Anyway, I'm not sure how this concept fits in with the rest of the pictures, which at least look like stuff that has some plausible basis in reality. But then again, reality may not be Switzerland's strong suit. Consider this snapshot of the navigation bar that appears when you click on "Interests." Specifically, consider the left-hand side of the bar:



Hmm, that's hard to read. Let me zoom in for you:



Oops. OK, that very obviously didn't work. So maybe you should just go to the site, click on "Interests" and then see for yourself that it says, clear as anything, right next to "Food & Wine"... "Time Travel."

I always knew the Swiss were an advanced race, but wow. This trip could end up being even more interesting than I thought...

Quick Note

Hey all, just wanted to let you know you can find fiction by yours truly in the inaugural issue of Ontologica. Click on the graphic to download a .pdf of the journal. Many thanks to the editors Drew Lackovic, Rod Dixon and David Harrity for coming up with the idea for the magazine, and for all the hard work they devoted to making it a reality. And for inviting me to be a part of Issue 1.1.

Enjoy!

NOTE: The story would probably be rated PG-13 for content and at least one instance of, ahem, "colorful" language. Just FYI.

What's Cookin'?

I didn't make it to San Francisco. Boo!

On the plus side, I am feeling a little bit better. Good enough to (gasp) cook tonight after I came home from work. And, if I say so myself, dinner was pretty good. Here is the "recipe", should you feel inclined to try it yourself:

Cacciatore sauce from Trader Joe's (thank God for pre-made sauces)
Whole wheat corkscrew pasta
Frozen peas
Pre-cooked shrimp
Feta

So, yeah, basically all you do is cook the pasta, and while you're doing that, simmer the sauce and add the frozen peas and pre-cooked shrimp. Then add the cooked pasta, stirring it into the sauce. Put however much you want into a bowl, add some crumbled feta, and you're done! In half an hour, tops.

You can tell I'm running really low on blog ideas, can't you?

But speaking of cooking, I read an interesting article on nytimes.com about the irony of the fact that cooking shows are super popular, yet people don't really cook that much anymore. I found it interesting, because frankly, while I don't go out of my way to watch cooking shows, if I happen to be in a place where other people are watching (say, the conference room in our office at lunchtime, for example), I do get kind of enthralled. Which is weird, because I don't cook. I mean, unless you count what I did tonight (throwing pre-made, pre-cooked things together) cooking.

Anyway, I thought I'd pose the question: do any of you enjoy watching cooking shows? If so, which ones? And have you ever tried to actually cook any of the recipes that were demonstrated on a show? If so, was it a terrible mistake?

The News, As It Happens

Well, I have been terribly remiss in my blogging of late. In fact, I have not even mentioned the big news of the past month... that the cowgirl is officially getting hitched! That's right, her cowboy put a ring on her finger last month and preparations are well underway for a November wedding. (Which people say is quick, but they obviously are forgetting the scant six weeks between the day my brother proposed to his girlfriend and the day they said "I do." Compared to that, the cowgirl's engagement is practically an eternity.)

Last weekend I performed one of my maid-of-honorly duties and went up to Fresno to assist the cowgirl in picking out a dress. Actually, all I did (along with my mom and one of the other bridesmaids) was nod an enthusiastic assent to the dress she had already pretty much decided on before our visit. So that was easy.

Unfortunately, the weekend, what with all the traveling, shopping and so on, seems to have taken a toll. I was already feeling drained before going up there, probably from overdoing the exercise recently, and this week I've barely been able to move. It's kind of depressing. No, scratch that... it IS depressing. No kind of about it. I'm so tired, and I'm tired of being tired.

To make matters worse, this fatigue is wreaking havoc on my plans to go up to San Francisco this weekend — a trip I've been looking forward to for the past two months. Ordinarily I enjoy the long drive, but I don't know if I can face it while I'm feeling like this. Ugh.

Well, I still have tomorrow to decide what to do, I guess.

On the plus side, my hair is still growing.

Today's Tip

Note to all aspiring carjacker-robbers: If you're going to claim to have a gun on your person, but not actually have one, then it's kind of a good idea to wear clothes that would believably conceal such a weapon. As opposed to, say, a bikini.

Just a suggestion.

Where's The Ticker Tape When You Need It?

I paid off every last cent of my remaining undergraduate student loans today. Amazingly, no one has offered to throw a parade in my honor. I think I deserve a parade.

Oh well. Maybe it'll happen when I finish paying off my graduate student loans, sometime in the next decade. Hey, I can dream.

Yay!

My hair is growing back.



OK, so it's a little hard to see in the picture. But trust me — it's there!

Hmmm

Today I saw a woman walking a purple poodle.

Portland Redux

Well, it's already been more than a week since I got back from my eagerly anticipated trip to Portland. Forgive me, readers, for I will not give the trip anywhere near the proper write-up it deserves, due to the fact that a) I am a terrible blogger, and b) um, well, a) pretty much said it all really.

I will just quickly sum up the highlights of the weekend:

1) Powell's. Yes, it was as awesome as I hoped. It was also far more overwhelming than I expected. I am not kidding when I say that I got lost in there a few times. It's sort of a maze. A three-story, 1-city-block-long maze filled top to bottom with books. Oh, and somewhere in there is a coffee shop. A coffee shop that I seemed to have a lot of trouble finding when I actually wanted to. (Kind of like Narnia. You don't find it, it finds you.)

2) Multnomah Falls. The beauty of nature at the falls is somewhat marred by the many tourists and tourist-related buildings that have been built up to accommodate the tourists, but the waterfall is still quite impressive. Also impressive were the two women I saw as I was on my way down the paved trail from hiking to the top of the falls; women walking up the trail in — again I am not kidding — high heels. Because nothing says, "I love being out in nature!" like a pair of 3" wedges.

3) Seaside. The city of Seaside is, as you would probably guess, right by the coast. It is quite cute and charming, and is, as far as I could tell, completely made up of candy shops. One of those shops, called the Buzz on Broadway, could give you a sugar rush just from walking in the door and breathing. It was the Powell's of candy shops, except it was the size of a normal shop. So, actually, not very much like Powell's. But the POINT is, they had pretty much any sort of candy you could want. They also sold fudge. Oh, and my favorite: chocolate-covered bacon (still not kidding, except for the part about it being my favorite).

Speaking of bacon, that brings me to

4) Voodoo Doughnuts. You can get bacon on a doughnut at this place. You can also, if you're me, get hit on rather aggressively by a woman who is either not aware or doesn't care that you're not gay, probably due to the mind-altering substance that is clearly influencing her. At one point, she actually told me she worshiped me and that was a little awkward, seeing as how we'd only just met. So I said, "I worship Jesus," which ideally should have either a) upped the awkwardness ante enough to ensure that I would be left alone, or b) turned the conversation in a far more profitable direction. Alas, it did neither. My friend and I finally had to leave the store without buying anything, but that was OK. The clerk gave every appearance of not caring, and neither of us wanted a doughnut all that much anyway. (Especially not doughnuts with bacon on them. Gross.)

5) Eating food from a street-cart vendor. I had read an article before going to Portland about the street carts that sold all kinds of different foods, from Thai to Mexican to Bosnian to Czech to Greek and much more. Of course I had to make sure I partook of this unique experience. An experience that included a half-hour wait time for my shrimp burrito. Bliss!

6) The International Rose Test Garden. We went here on our last day in the city, and it was quite a nice ending to the weekend. Lots of roses, most of them unfortunately in varying states of decay, but you couldn't tell unless you were up close. Also, the little gift shop had free samples of rose tea, which was light and refreshing and did indeed taste like roses. Or at least a hint of roses.

All in all, I liked Portland very much. It's a pretty cool city, and we were able to walk nearly everywhere we wanted to go (except the Rose Garden and Multnomah Falls and Seaside). I also loved the forests that surround the city (so green!), the bridges over the Columbia River, and the view of the Columbia River Gorge from Crown Point. And I thought it was neat that, though we were staying in a downtown hotel right smack in the middle of everything, not once in the entire trip did we hear a siren.

But still, it's good to be back in Cali. There's no place like home...

Epiphany!

Oh my gosh, I just realized something awesome.

I had decided that I didn't want to check any bags on my flight to Portland, so I've been trying to pack as light as possible. But then I thought, "Dang it, how am I going to pack my shampoo and conditioner? I don't have any of those little 3oz bottles and I can't take the big bottles in my carry-on!" And that's when I remembered.*

I don't need to take shampoo and conditioner. I'm BALD. Tra la la la la la!


*I know it probably seems odd that I forgot I had no hair, considering how long I haven't had it. But every now and then, for no more than a split second, I really do. Strange, but true. And usually, when I remember that I'm bald, I'm bummed. But for once, I'm kind of stoked because honestly, I just hate packing shampoo and conditioner.

Off to Portland Tomorrow!

I should be packing right now. But of course I'm procrastinating. I wouldn't be me if I didn't wait til the very last minute, after all. Cancer may have affected my outlook about various aspects of life, but sadly it did not transform me into a paragon of organization and efficiency.

I really, really hope it doesn't rain all weekend. In addition to seeing Powell's and various other points of interest in the city, my friend and I may make it out to the coast and possibly Columbia Gorge.

I'll try to take some pics, too. Hopefully they're better than the ones I took in Thailand.

Don't Tread On Me

Stumbled across the following fascinating observation in a user comment at the end of this article about Facebook friendship:

Online friends are one demential and have to be treaded as such.

Thought-provoking, isn't it? Unlike the article, in fact, which was a rather shallow explication of social networking on Facebook. I've definitely read better critiques elsewhere. But at any rate, it didn't persuade me to sign up for a Facebook account. I remain Facebookless to this day, in spite of my real-life friends' repeated invites and perplexed queries as to why on earth I wouldn't join. The reasons are far too complicated to go into here (read: I can't be bothered right now), but I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't a subject of a future post.

In the meantime, why not ponder what treading one demential friends might look like. Hey, it can't be any less entertaining than taking a quiz to figure out what Disney character you most resemble. (Yeah, sure you haven't done that.)

Where Does The Time Go?

I can't believe it's the middle of June already. It doesn't feel like summer at all here in the Golden State. I've been wearing sweatshirts almost every day since the beginning of the month. On Sunday, we had our first glimpse of sunshine in literally weeks.

And now I'm getting ready to head up to Portland, OR, where apparently the weather forecast calls for clouds and rain this weekend. Yay.

Oh well, I'm still looking forward to the trip. For one thing, I need a vacation. Badly. For another, I'm finally going to see Powell's! And for yet another, I'm all done with chemo!!

Wait, that doesn't have anything to do with Portland. Oh well, who cares! I'M DONE WITH CHEMO!! Tra la la la la la LAAAAAA!

Yeah, I'm still pretty happy about that, in case you couldn't tell.

By the way, many thanks to those of you who commented with birthday wishes on my last post. I had an awesome birthday, truly one of the best ever—not least because I was alive to celebrate it! Thank God. Man, what a crazy year...

Happy BIrthday To Me!

Boy, did I ever earn this one.

What Part of "I'm Done With Chemo" Does My Body Not Understand?

The part that is still full of chemo drugs, I guess. Boo!

The weekend was pretty tough. I felt exhausted to the extreme physically, and depressed emotionally, so that on Saturday I could barely get out of bed all day. And though I ate, I found myself grossed out by food at the same time. Once again, nothing tasted right.

Sunday was better, and today was better still. At least my taste buds are almost back.

So people have asked me what's next, now that I'm finished with chemo and am in remission. Well, I'm not technically cancer-free until I get through the followup period, which will be about 2-3 years. I will probably have a CAT scan after six months. Then another PET scan six months after that. And so the cycle will go, I guess, until the followup period is finished. I'll know a bit more about the process after I've seen my doctor again, which will be in about five weeks.

In the meantime, I'm looking forward to getting my hair back. The doctor said it would take about 6-8 weeks after my last treatment for it to start growing again. I can't wait!

I'm also looking forward to being able to run again. After my third treatment, I pretty much had to give it up, though on days when I felt good, I would try a jog around the Rose Bowl or wherever. Of course, it always turned into mostly a walk. Fatigue definitely increased with each treatment, and I've barely done any exercise at all over the past month. I miss it.

I still have moments — quite often, actually — of disbelief when I think about the past five months. When I say to myself the words, "I had cancer." It's so hard to get my head around it. I wonder if I ever will.

It's 2:52am...

...and not much has changed. I hate tonight. Bleah.

It's 1:53am...

... I can't sleep, I feel sick, and I have watched way too many old episodes of 30ROCK on Netflix over the past never-mind-how-many-hours.

Ugh.

NOW I'm done!

I took my last dose of Prednisone today, which was the last of any drugs I needed to take as part of my final chemo treatment. I am officially done!

So why aren't I jumping up and down with delight and dancing my head off? Well, for one thing, I can't dance, but for another, I have to be honest... I have moments where I can't help but wonder, "What if it comes back?" Mind you, I want to celebrate and be extravagantly, deliriously happy that I'm in remission and continue to have a good outlook, but I'm starting to realize what the Psalmist meant when he talked about walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The shadow leaves its mark, like it or not, even if you get through the valley okay.

Er, not to be morbid or anything.

Hmm, it appears that I'm not in a super great mood tonight. And I just realized how totally lame that is. Because you know what? I'm done with chemo! And I'm glad! I'm really, REALLY glad to be done with crappy chemo!!

For God's sake, someone bring me some dancing shoes. Stat.

Last Chemo Treatment Tomorrow!

Well, the big day is finally here. Tomorrow marks the end of the chemo drama that has been the story of my life since February. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it. Specifically, to the moment sometime around 3pm when they take the IV needle out of my arm and tell me I can go home. For the last time!

(Please God, make it be the last time.)

To Do Or Not To Do?

Are "to-do" lists a waste of time for anyone else besides me? I mean, ostensibly the whole point of a to-do list is so you can focus and get stuff done that you need to get done, and then you can check those things off when you do them and feel a sense of accomplishment, right? Well, on the rare occasions where I actually have my act together enough to know what I need to put on such a list at all, I'll write all this stuff down and then forget all about it. Or I'll look at it at some point in the day and think, "Actually that can wait til tomorrow, and so can that and that and that." Before I know it, the whole list is a carryover to tomorrow, a victim of my finely honed procrastinatory tendencies.

Or even better, I'll sometimes write stuff on the list that I've already done that day. Then I cross those things off immediately so that if by some amazing chance I remember to look at it in the evening, I'll see the crossed-off activities and think, "Yeah, I did something! Go me!"

Sad, isn't it.

One of my co-workers has a "To Don't" pad hanging up in her cubicle. I need to get me one of those. Maybe I'll put it on my next "To Do" list.

Maybe not.

Musings

Judging from conversations I've had with pregnant friends, the symptoms of going through chemo apparently bear (ha) a resemblance to pregnancy: nausea, sensitivity to certain smells, taste changes, loss of appetite and weird cravings (mine have included potstickers, apple juice, V8 and those little Babybel cheeses, though not all at the same time, thankfully). Of course, with chemo, there's no little bundle of joy or whatever awaiting you at the end as a reward for all the ickiness you've endured. There's just you. A bit shaken, and with a lot less hair.

But as I look in the mirror and trace the strange silvery line of the biopsy scar in the hollow of my collarbone and run my hand over my bald head and notice my terribly thinned-out eyebrows and eyelashes, I think coming to the end of chemo is kind of like birth in a way, after all. Only it's yourself that's being born again, into someone who can't help being different from the person who started the whole process. And there is pain and mourning in that, because something has been irretrievably lost. But there is joy, too, for what is being made new.

And I'm not just talking about hair.

Life in Chemo Land

Sick today. Woke up at about 3 a.m., dehydrated and with a truly splitting headache, which is only just now starting to fade. I'm tired and weak, and moving around so slowly, a snail could give me a run for my money. That's when I'm moving at all and not just lying in bed. I haven't been able to eat anything so far but a couple Saltines, a cup of yogurt, a cup of applesauce and a popsicle, thanks to the fact that my appetite has once more gone on holiday to someplace more congenial than my chemo-raddled body.

Bleah.

My last treatment is May 29. I can't wait.

In A Split Second

The past few months have been hard on my faith. Seemed like one day I looked around at the world and couldn't comprehend anymore that a God could exist, or that there could possibly be an underlying order or meaning in the chaos of my life, let alone other people's. In a split second, just like that, my faith suddenly made no sense. I had a longing for God, but felt I'd lost him. I became truly afraid of death as I realized, for maybe the first time in my life, that I didn't know for certain what, if anything, might lie on the other side.

Then tonight I read this passage, in Marilynne Robinson's novel Housekeeping:

For need can blossom into all the compensation it requires. To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. For when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when is the taste refracted into so many hues and savors of ripeness and earth, and when do our senses know any thing so utterly as when we lack it? And here again is a foreshadowing — the world will be made whole. For to wish for a hand on one's hair is all but to feel it. So whatever we may lose, very craving gives it back to us again. Though we dream and hardly know it, longing, like an angel, fosters us, smooths our hair, and brings us wild strawberries.

Maybe those words mean nothing to you. That's ok. They mean something to me, though. I can't really explain but somehow, after reading them, and in spite of all the doubts and fears that still won't be fully assuaged, I'm comforted. Somehow, even if just for a split second, God makes sense again.

And in that split second, there's always hope. For what? I'm honestly not sure right now. But I'll hold onto it anyway, just the same.

Who's Afraid of My Big Bald Head?

I was reading this article a couple weeks ago in the NY Times, in which a current cancer patient is featured, and this paragraph jumped out at me at the end:

She knows she frightens people with her bald head, so obviously a cancer patient. When someone is on crutches with a broken ankle, strangers offer condolences and ask about the injury. But people avert their eyes when they see Ms. Kutt. Only once, she said, did a stranger approach, and that was a woman who also had breast cancer.

The reason it caught my eye is because I totally don't know that I frighten anyone with my bald head when I go out sans chapeau. Sure, sometimes kids stare, but they haven't exactly run away screaming. So am I just oblivious? Are people actually scared when they see me? I can't really imagine it. Maybe it's just because I live in LA, where pretty much anything goes in the hairstyle/looks department and and anyway everyone makes a point to be extremely blase´and unsurprised about anything out of the ordinary.

I do get the impression that some people probably think that I've shaved my head on purpose. Today, as I was walking into a Starbucks, a security guard who had a bald head complimented me on mine. I just smiled and said, "Thanks," preferring not to make it all awkward by explaining why I actually have one, but I kinda felt as though I was being complimented under false pretenses. I mean, as though I were this bold, tough chick who doesn't give a damn what people think about her. Which wouldn't be true.

Well, okay, maybe the latter part is a little more true than it used to be. But not totally true. And bold or tough? That's actually funny.

I still miss my hair, even though I've gotten more used to not having it. I rarely wear hats anymore, unless it's cold. It's not pride or confidence, just laziness and the fact that I'm kind of tired of hats.

Domestic Matters, Etc

Tonight I tried to make cookies. I used a brownie mix I got from Trader Joe's, and added some Bailey's to it just for fun.

Sadly, they turned out terrible. Oh well.

It's rare that I display any sort of domestic tendencies, but this is the second time in less than a week that I've found myself doing some baking. So strange.

In other news, over the past weekend I felt generally better than I usually do after a chemo treatment, which was nice. However, I haven't been sleeping too well, so today I felt pretty tired, and when I went for a walk after work my legs felt fatigued, and then later I noticed my sense of taste was off, and that I wasn't really feeling like eating again, and I'm just very tired of this cycle of feeling good/feeling bad/feeling good. I am SO ready to be done with this chemo crap.

On the plus side, maybe my latest domestic endeavors are indicative that I'm becoming some sort of new and improved person as part of this whole surreal experience. Although you'd think Miss New-and-Improved wouldn't screw up a box brownie mix. But hey, give her time... she might surprise us all eventually. Including me.