Strawberry Story: The Little Prince

Taming of the fox.

It's cheating to use a whole book for Strawberry Friday, but I can't help it.  Mom introduced me to the book, and I have made it required reading of my friends in my twenties. I don't just read the story, I collect it.  I have purchased or been gifted translations from all over the world inclding the original French, Mandarin, Hungarian, Swedish, Spanish, and Hindi.  With Joann Sfar's version, I am now able to share it with my daughter who loves it in her own right. 

Ellie's favorite part, introduction of the rose.

This graphic version of The Little Prince is by Joann Sfar, adapted from the original by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.  Transplated by Sarah Ardizzone and color by Brigette Findakley 2010.
For our wish list- check out this video of a cute pop-up version!

Ribbon Check: What Color Are You?

I had no idea there were so many ribbons to promote cancer awareness....

From the Choose Hope website:



Ribbon colors and meanings from http://www.choosehope.com/

 So mom could have chosen from lavender, pink, gold, burgundy/ivory, and I'm not sure about her neuroblastoma.  At first I thought grey, but thanks to the exhaustive awareness list on the Personalized Cause website, gold should cover it.   Come to think of it, considering the spread by the end I might as well order up the color wheel. 




From http://www.choosehope.com/ 


Reminds me too of all the colored bracelets we wore in school, stacked up our wrists almost to our elbows.  Madonna: early supporter against Melanoma?

More than raising awareness, these kinds of products let people feel like they're doing something, part of something, that can often feel so helpless.  In the spirit of deliberating over this new information of so many causes, pardon as I share some random musings.

1.  Not a fan of the black.  If I had to pick a cause, I'd want it to be bright and beautiful.  Melanoma = black?  Murder?  How bleak! 

2.  Ditto for grey.  Brain cancer = grey.  Seems like grey matter issue, so makes sense.  Grey can also be for lead poisoning, allergies, or diabetes. 

3.  There is a lot going on for orange.  Putting world hunger and feral cats into the same band category doesn't seem like a good idea.  Is there peer review for these colors? 

4.  Pearl, you are a cheater and are gray (lung cancer).  Same goes for you silver.  Interesting that you can combine them for different meanings, ie pearl next to white for non-smoker lung cancer awareness.

5.  When in doubt, wear red.  Seems to cover the most causes.

6.  I did not realize that Native American Repatriation had an awareness band: turqouis.

7.  Indigo seems to be wide open.  If you have a cause, claim it now!

8.  I didn't think about it before, but are these bands international?  There are many national interests represented for some of the colors.  For example, Save Darfur (green), Ukranian Orange Revolution of 2004, and Canadian Cancer Society is yellow.

9.  Brown, I have some issues.  Anti-tobacco causes seem to go for brown.  I get it, but again, if you're against tobacco something brighter might do.

10.  Whatever I think of the color band/ribbon system, it gets points for being open and inclusive.  I like the move towards combination colors.  How about patterns?  Maybe leopard print!

Me?  I'm a plum. 

What color are you?

Chapter 5: I Am Woman Hear Me Roar

Mom says, "I went around the house the next week singing Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar."  What follows I find hard to believe and understand.  Maybe others can empathize.

In her own words:

Somehow part of it was exhilarating.  I began a water aerobic exercise program at the YMCA just days out of the hospital.  The dressing flowed out of the top of the bathing suit as I swam with my head above water.  Two weeks out of the hospital I began the masters program and a counseling internship placement in nearby school systems.  I felt I had no more time to give the medical world.  I did very well in my classes that were in the evening; the girl next door would come over to babysit my school-aged children.  Being in a counseling milieu is a great place to be during a major life transition, and I felt I handled all of my issues up front the best I knew how.

Now this I sadly believe, and so timely to our own time:

I did not pick up a dating and social life afterwards, and it was clear that being in the midst of a divorce during a mastectomy was a tricky process in terms of self esteem and body image.  I had to stop the divorce proceeding because I was not insurable without the military, and could only begin it again after I had been hired the next year as a school counselor. 

Strawberry Story: Lyrics to an Unknown Song

If I lie inside the covers
With the darkened warm of breathing-only me
And I curl up like a kitten,
Closing all the blankets very carefully,
Perhaps the goblins will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away

If I climb onto a tree limb
With the shiny leaves in bunches
Hiding me
And I never move to stir them,
Sitting motionless and waiting quietly,
Perhaps the bullies will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I watch a funny movie
With lovely couples all surrounding me,
And I eat the salty popcorn
And the candy
Till I'm laughing painfully,
Perhaps the worries will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I only talk politely
To the friends who never fair
Inviting me
And I skim the paper lightly,
Glancing at the news reports just casually,
Perhaps the questions will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I tumble in the grasses
With another who pretends he's loving me,
And we exchange the little gesture,
Little phrases of the way
Love ought to be,
Perhaps the loneliness won't find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I lie inside the covers with the darkened warm of breathing-only me,
And I curl up like a kitten,
Closing all the blankets very carefully,
Perhaps my life will jnot find me,
Never touch me, Maybe even go away, go a way.

** This is a song mom heard in South Dakota in the late 1970s.  She didn't know who wrote it, but included it in her book as it represented to her the option of hiding from life, in her words "the choice that is always there and that at painful times often looks the most inviting."  Do you recognize it?  Let me know!

Chapter 5: Lightening



 Lightening by Ramona Handel

"Lightening won't strike in the same place twice.  Janet won't have cancer.  If I think positive, it won't happen."

These were the thoughts repeating through my mind like a mantra as Janet and I waited for her biopsy results.

WRONG!  Cancer can strike twice or more in the same person and positive thinking isn't enough to change the diagnosis.

Janet's Air Force doctor advised a radical mastectomy.  I knew a modified radical mastectomy was just as effective and less disfiguring with fewer medical problems later.  I also believe the military medical system was behind the private medical system in the "latest treatments" available.

Get another consult, outside the military.

The diagnosis was the same, the surgery was modified, and performed by one of the best surgeons available in the community.  It was well known in the private medical community that he had no personal support to offer a patient but instead had great surgeon's hands.

As I visited Janet in the hospital during her recovery from surgery, a tape recorder playing chanting in the background, little did I know I would walk a similar path in the near future.

January 1981 I saw the same doctor for a lump on my breast.  He examined me, my mammogram was negative, so was the diagnosis.  I skipped out of his office into the sunshine of that crisp Dakota day with feelings of joy and gratitude.  I did not follow my own advice and get a second opinion, after all the news was good and what I wanted to hear.  Why would I ask for a different diagnosis?  I was making a mistake.

My focus was elsewhere.  I had been divorced for a year now and still adjusting to such a huge shift in our family.  I was beginning a life long process of coming out as a lesbian and staying sober.  My immune system was weakened from high stress and in retrospect I was a candidate for cancer or any stress related illness.

Eleven months later a needle biopsy of the lump showed cancer.  I had a mastectomy and my recovery was enhanced by the love and support of friends and family.  Two months before I surgery I had met and fallen in love while on a trip to Mexico.  That was a strong healing factor through my surgery, recovery, and life.  Love has a way of making life instantly more previous, as does cancer.

After the surgery and three months of chemotherapy the cancer has stayed in remission.  Not because I have made great efforts to avoid carcinogenic substances.  I eat anything and quit smoking many times each year.  In that sense I am a terrible gambler and most definitely addicted.

Cancer has been a challenge and I have been more challenged by accepting my homosexuality, accepting my parents' nonacceptance of my sexual orientation, and the resulting periods of depression and despair.  I believe I have learned to cope in better ways and the despair is in the past.

My family has come to a form of silent acceptance in sixteen years and although they do not talk about my orientation I occasionally say something about a gay or lesbian friend and there is obvious discomfort and a change in subject.  We have stopped fighting over the issue that should be a non-issue in a healthier system.

My sons are of another generation.  My younger son has come out about his lesbian mother to his friends and has talked about how difficult that is.  My older son talks freely with me about his homophobia and that he can't tell anyone about "it."

I think it is not my faith that has carried me thus far but rather the caring of friends, lovers, and family.

What I am grateful for was best said by Yeats.  "Think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was, I had such friends."

Chapter 5: The Paprika Pixie - Round 2 Begins

I'm going to skip ahead here.  The important thing to know is that at then end of Chapter 4 mom is feeling like a top, brand-new VW model fresh off the factory floor.  She's got her man, her children, her purpose, and her spiritual quest.  A page into Chapter 5, she feels like this:

My Body Looks Like Our Beat-up Old V.W. Bug
[she writes in pen below "But I'm still running"]

In Mom's own words:

I felt a lump in my breast while taking a shower soon after we settled into Rapid City, and I called the base medical hospital that still covered me until the divorce would be complete in the next few months.  They answered that it would take a long time for a new patient appointment, so I dropped the wildcard of having had terminal cancer as a child, and got an immediate appointment that day.  I was smiling to myself how clever I was to have learned how to work the system.

I went in for the appointment, had a biopsy the next day.  As I stayed over night the surgeon came to talk about how it was undoubtedly benign from its type, and we talked as two colleagues while I described what I had done for the military medical group in the Philippine Islands.  The next day, as my friend Ramona came to pick me up, I was taken completely by surprise with the news of the lab report of cancer.  My friend Ramona was picking me up; she and her radiologist husband helped set me up with consults in the Rapid City medical community once the young military surgeon said he would do a radical mastectomy immediately because that was the surgery he knew best.  My friend Ramona, who was picking me up, made an intervention at this point.  She recommended getting other medical opinions ASAP.

The surgeon I chose found that the medullary carcinoma was not in any of my lymph nodes and didn't require follow-up treatment.  So, I again felt that the ordeal was over and probably a by-product of the divorce and living in a foreign country under immense tension for the last two years.

After the surgery I came home and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror without the bandages on.  I had staple marks across the left side of my chest where a breast had been.  I was turned-off by my appearance, but I had two saving thoughts.  One was that I looked like our beat-up old Volkswagen bug that we drove for years [affectionately named the Paprika Pixie].  It, too, had been scarred, survived many close calls, looked like a mushed aluminum can at times.  But this vehicle of my body was still getting me where I wanted to go, still delivering me to what came next. 

Strawberry Story: Wild Strawberries

Wild Strawberry viewed on MamaKopp Etsy account.

Wild Strawberries
By Shel Silverstein

Are Wild Strawberries really wild?
Will they scratch an adult, will they snap at a child?
Should you pet them, or let them run free where they roam?
Could they ever relax in a steam-heated home?
Can they be trained to not growl at the guests?
Will a litterbox work or would they leave a mess?
Can we make them a Cowberry, herding the cows,
Or maybe a Muleberry pulling the plows,
Or maybe a Huntberry chasing the grouse,
Or maybe a Watchberry guarding the house,
And though they may curl up at your feet oh so sweetly,
Can you ever feel that you trust them completely?
Or should we make a pet out of something less scary,
Like the Domestic Prune or the Imported Cherry,
Anyhow, you’ve been warned and I will not be blamed
If your Wild Strawberry cannot be tamed.

Wild Women: Glamor Girls

What is it about an eye patch that makes a woman mysterious, sultry, even sexy?  No doubt an eye patch means something different on a woman than it does a man.

Check out these glamor girls:

Heidi

Rihanna

Bette Davis

Madonna

Then again...

Ugly Betty

Strawberry Story: Pirate Story

Pirate Story

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing.

Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea.

Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,

And waves are on the meadow

like the waves there are at sea.

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,

Wary of the weather and steering by a star?

Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,

To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?

Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea-

Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!

Quickly, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,

The wicket is the harbor and the garden is the shore.

Illustrated by Myrtle Sheldon

Oh my God...the first ever pirate story that actually resonated with memories of my mother!  From Loie's copy of A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Chapter 4: The heart of the matter

Collage from the Eye Patch Quilt.

The question mom poses throughout Chapter 4 to advocate for those with facial difference is: what's it like having a one-eyed mom?  What do people without facial differences not understand about how differences on the outside translate when behind closed doors?  Read on in her words:

Having been an only child myself, I was happy that Andy and Sarah would now have each other as they experienced the uniqueness that was ours.  I often would run around the house in the early mornings or late evenings without the patch on because the elastic caused pressure on my head.  I can generally wear them 3 to 4 times before the sewing the elastic tighter again so that they don't fall down on my nose.  The warmth of my head and hair oils must do the loosening over spans of hours.  Seldom does one fit just right without being too tight or too loose.  There is very little tolerance there for exact fit.

I have learned that it is not unusual for a physically challenged person to take off a prosthesis or health-aid when they are safely at home.  It creates a dichotomy of what is appropriate for the outside world and what is only okay when no neighbors or friends are over.  The kids got to see me running for the upstairs closet that housed the patches when an early doorbell range or a dog had to be walked in a hurry.  They didn't find my appearance scary, but I knew their friends who might be spending the night would, so I had a double set of dress codes for myself.

Being a teacher, counselor, therapist type, I sometimes would ask them if it bothered them when everyone stared at us as I came to one of their school concerts, friends' birthday parties, or athletic events.  Usually they said "No," but did acknowledge that their school mates kept asking them what was wrong with their Mom and why she wore that funny thing.  I think it really helped to be open and give everyone an opportunity to talk about it.

Is this family photo from the 70s or what?

Don't worry- she tasked me with writing my own chapter on this years ago...

Strawberry Story: Goals for Me

Look familiar?  This poster has been, and is, a staple of therapists doors since the seventies.  Some people grew up with Peter Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh, or Holly Hobbie on their walls.  I got Virginia Satir.  It worked though, this poster formed the foundation of my relationships during formative years and is still my litmus test for friendship today.

Goals for Me

I want to love you without clutching,
appreciate you without judging, join you without invading,
invite you without demanding, leave you without guilt,
criticize you without blaming, and help you without insulting.
If I can have the same from you,
then we can truly meet and enrich each other.

-Virginia Satir

Chapter 4: Solstice Baby

My brother Andy and bewildered me.  Still sport those looks.

Moral of this next story- never take a bet against my mom.  In her own words:

Sarah was born three years later, and again an incredible bonding and world vision resulted the night afterward.  I wanted to be able to live in that state of being forever.  She also was induced 3 weeks after my due date.  I wanted her born on June 21, the summer solstice, but the obstetrician induced her the morning of the 20th to better fit his schedule; he said he was sure she would arrive that day.  She was born at five minutes past midnight on the 21st.  After announcing she was a healthy beautiful little girl, he laughed and said, "You'd do anything to win a bet!"

Mementofacts from my baby book:

Announcement in the base newsletter.

Standard military congratulations letter from Sen. George McGovern*.

*In an odd turn of events, George McGovern now lives in my town!  He was walking behind me just the other day.  I thought to stop and turn and thank him for his letter but decided to wait for the next time.

Chapter 4: Ear...eye...nose...patch!

Proud parents with their "babies" in their laps.

In mom's own words:

Over the next few months I saw myself assuming my own mother's role of protector.  The military well-baby checks left much to be desired in those days as you sat with your child a minimum of an hour in a waiting room crowded with many other infant/mother combinations trying to cope as we were, and a few sick kids in the waiting room mixed in.  I flashed back to what it must have been like for my Mom through those gruesome medical days with me.  What strength it took to be the defender.

I began the usual little identification games with Andy as an infant and toddler.  Soon he could sit on my lap, say and point to my "ear...eye...nose...mouth...chin...patch!"  His childhood experience would clearly have some unusual dimensions to it.

Strawberry Story: Balancers

In looking for fresh fodder for Strawberry Fridays I thought, well, why not drink the strawberry this week?  Afterall, isn't that the point of the punchline, "Best I ever tasted," to taste?  This recipe comes from the "Balancers: Smoothies for Women" section of Smoothies for Life!

Enjoy!

Strawberry Shake

1 cup skim milk
1 cup frozen strawberries
1 banana
2 tablespoons soy protein
1 teaspoon flaxseed oil
1 teaspoon brewer's yeast

From: Smoothies for Life! Daniella Chace and Maureen B. Keane 1998 p.261

Chapter 4: Two Beautiful Children

In mom's own words:

Like the words of the song recorded by Whitney Houston, I do believe the children are our future.  My mother had many miscarriages before and after me, and she instilled the message in me that babies are golden, the pearl of great price, and that you protect them with your life at all cost.  My parents had tried to adopt a child as well, but were told it was not possible whiles they had such a sick little girl with medical procedures and expenses looming head.

During my post surgical treatment as a 6 year old, the radiation field came very close to my pituitary gland.  The doctors over the years said that I might not be able to have children; so after 3 years of marriage my husband and I began the process of adoption.  To our delight and amazement, I found myself pregnant before the final paperwork was completed.

All the husbands in our Air Force wind came home from a 6 month tour flying over Viet-Nam on my due date in March of 1970.  The aircraft commander's wife had an ambulance standing by in the hanger as all the KC-135's and B-52's came in.  I guess she thought I might get so excited that I would plunk the kid right down there on the tarmac.  Reunions on a grant scale are very exciting, but son Andy waited to make his appearance in the world three weeks later.  The labor was induced, and the doctors speculated that the delay might be due to the radiation in 1949.

I looked over at Andy lying in the isolette next to me.  We looked in each other's eyes and it was love at first site.  There was a sense of lineage, of the life force passing through me as this beautiful little boy, who was flesh of my flesh, came into the world; it was the most incredible experience I had ever had.  I stayed awake all night envisioning our future.  In later years I would come to call it my first truly vibrant experience of the inner-self.  I spent that night in an altered state of being, seeing life's existence and its meaning through benevolent, purposeful, and compassionate eye(s).  I recognized that my life would never again be the same.

Chapter 4: Footprints on my bladder

The Culprit

I've Got Footprints On My Bladder

by Patricia Graham

Oh, I've got footprints on my bladder.

I've got babies on my brain.

All day long I'm a-chatter,

'Bout clowns or dollies I'm gonna frame.

My stomach is expanding

And is restless and demanding.

Do ya think I kin ever fit

Into a dress the size I'm gonna git?

I wonder what "Ish" would say

If he saw me standing this-away

Surveying my expansion

-a-itching and a-scratching?

How long d'I hafta wait

-afore I git to hatching?

Oh, I've got footprints on my bladder.

I've got babies on my brain.

The sex, it doesn't matter,

But I can't think of a name!

At the time Pat wrote this she was Assistant Editor of the Littleton Independent.  December 1969

Fair's Fair

It's not been all rosy, folks.  Some people write and are encouraging--it means the world to me, keep it up!  Others who I thought would appreciate the blog haven't really tuned in to the medium.  And some I thought might take the blog wrong way have and are hurt.  What can I say, dynamics are a bitch.  I took a little break, loaded up some Strawberry Fridays to carry me into the spring, then got back to the work at hand. 

And there it was.

My mother writes in her draft prompting a friend to write her chapter, and I quote my mom here: "A story that probably won't make it into the book unless my gutsy daughter Sarah, a lot like you in fact, is even gutsier than I imagine."

Oh, it's there people.  In my most playful font I imagine you say, "The bitch didn't!"  Oh yes, she did.  What follows?  The story of me and my first menses.  How does this fit in with her book?  It maybe doesn't.  But it entirely fits in with this blog.  I've aired her honest laundry, and fair's fair.

I meet your challenge Janet Trever, and will raise you!  Knowing, trusting that the two of us can go there together.

So here is her version, uncensored and unabridged.  Not the way I'd tell it, but again, fair's fair.

When she left for her summer visitation with her Dad's family just before her 12th birthday, she asked me what would happen if her period began during the 3 months; many of her friends' menses had already begun.  At the airport we planned a code system so that no nosey folks at the other end would know what she was telling me.  The code we came up with: "Molly Brown's Living room."

The story could end there, but doesn't.  On her birthday, June 21st, we talked on the phone a while, I went to be early for exams the next day.  She called late at night, woke me out of a sound sleep, and all I could hear was this person babbling about some living room.  I finally woke up enough to understand.  There were no supplies in the house* for her, she needed me to talk to her Dad and take her out to a store to stock up.  I talked to him (his wife, Sarah's step-mother, was out of town at the time) and they got through the experience as best the could.  That phrase is permanently embedded in our brains to this day.

*My one correction.  WE WERE CAMPING!!!  I WAS IN THE WOODS WITH BOYS AND MEN AND MORE BOYS!!!  I made my dad drive to a phone in the middle of nowhere (in North Dakota already, keep in mind) in the middle of the night to pass the code phrase on to my mom so she could explain to my confused father.  I couldn't tell him what was happening, just that I needed a phone. 

In the end you would not believe my luck.  Hours from home, my dad drove to the nearest convenient store.  Ready for the miracle?  My beloved sister just HAPPENED to be at the same store in the middle of the woods and saved me from a death by humiliation in sparing my dad from the purchase and explanation of the bags contents.  Thanks Charlotte, I still owe you!

The walls people, check out the walls.  Also, check definition of TMI.

Wild Women: Marie Colvin

Princesses and pirates aside, researching women in patches brought me to Marie Colvin.  Ms. Colvin, and American born reporter for The Sunday Times, is a real, live action hero- reporting from the front lines in conflicts worldwide.  Her courage, regardless of her ocular status, inspires me.  To note she has one eye feels superficial, its certainly not a central theme of her story. 

Take a look at the titles of her articles--perhaps you've read a few?

Check out this video featuring Ms. Colvin on the dangers of correspondents, the loss of her eye, and her efforts to bring to light an unreported humanitarian disaster.  She poses the rhetorical question: is it worth the cost?  "I felt that risk was worth it."

Sunday Mirror article on eembedded journalists (top photo credit)
http://riveronline.co.uk/09/category/meta-tags/sunday-mirror

Strawberry Story: St. Francis Prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace

Where there is hatred, let me sow love

Where there is injury, pardon

Where there is doubt, faith

Where there is despair, hope

Where there is darkness, light

Where there is sadness, joy

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console,

To be understood as to understand,

To be loved as to love,

For it is in giving that we receive,

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

St. Francis remains a family affair:



St. Francis statue at Mission San Luis, Tallahassee
(note: have you EVER seen a St. Francis with a skull before?)

Ellie and St. Francis, Nombre de Dios, St. Augustine

Ellie at final resting place of Janet, Loie, and Arthur Trever. 
First United Methodist Church, St. Francis Garden, Arlington Heights

Mom's St. Francis Garden, Arlington Heights.

St. Francis Garden, Winter 2007.

Trever pays his respects to his namesakes.

Two more Trevers across the way.

PS Today is Arthur Nelson Trever's birthday, born January 21, 1915.

The Eye Patch Quilt: Cousin!

Lilypad quilt by Marcia Karlin.

Last month I had the opportunity to visit Laura Bernstein, and on top of a fabulous, spiritual visit, I got to see the quilt that started it all.  Marcia Karlin made this quilt of lily pads that Laura purchased from the Chicago Botanical Gardens show and now hangs on her wall.  When we were looking for a textile artist to take on our assignment, it was at Laura's recommendation that we looked to Marcia.

Quilt details:

Lilypad detail.

Lilypad detail.

Close-up of southeast corner detail.

View of overall quilt, estimated 4 by 6 feet.