A Journey Within A Journey

It's hard to believe that the next benchmark on the journey is only two days away. On Monday, I will have the PET/CT Scan which will show how the cancer is responding to the radiation treatment. I am not without some anxiety, particularly since I returned from our wonderful trip with a couple of troubling symptoms, which may or may not be related to the disease. I saw one of my docs today, who said that we will just have to wait for next week's scan. Here I am, reaching out again for your supportive thoughts and prayers. I'll let you know the results just as soon as I have them. Meanwhile, the waiting is providing more opportunity for reflection on all the possibilities. Dr. Canales was quite clear that we can't expect a cure, but that there is a good chance of containment. My night thoughts are mostly about preparing for the ultimate inevitability, while my day thoughts focus on what I have to do today.

Our auto trip (the journey within) was enormously fulfilling for me and full of wonders, beginning with the drive up the splendid Oregon coast on a stunningly gorgeous day. We stayed in Tacoma, within walking distance of the Chihuyi and Tacoma Art Museum and in view of Mt Rainier, stately, ethereal Mt. Rainier, appearing and disappearing in and out of the Washington clouds. It reminded me of our trip to Huang Shan – we arrived there in a heavy overcast, and I expressed my disappointment to our guide that I wasn't going to be able to see any of the beauty. He brushed aside my concerns with “Don't worry, don't worry.” As he said it, the mists were clearing away to reveal a Chinese painting of mountains and valleys, which continued to disappear and reappear. The on-going life of the natural world is so comforting to me...the little hummingbird that faced me in the window over my kitchen sink, hovering with it's tiny beating wings, saying, “It's O.K., we're all here,” and just staying there until my pain could melt into the vast and blend with all of life.

The next step of our magical journey was Jeff's 50th Birthday Party. One approaches Jeff's house through a nondescript neighborhood, entering an overgrown, dirt road alley. Finding a stairway, constructed of grates nestled into a hillside (not good for high heels, but Jeff says no one that ever comes to his house wears high heels), one feels thrust into the story of “The Secret Garden.” A breathtaking profusion of flowers and plants, familiar and unfamiliar, in pots, in beds, surrounding sweet little lawns, room after room of them, cascading down the hillside, the rest of the world out of sight, out of mind; the burgeoning vegetable garden, the cozy chicken coop, the house, restored and decorated as only two strong, able, creative men would do it. The whole evening was out of another childhood storybook - when Bert took Mary Poppins and her charges into the picture he had drawn on the sidewalk (his day job) to have tea in an English garden. Amazingly delicious food, lovingly prepared and served by Jeff's friends, the table beautifully and simply set outdoors in one of the garden rooms, attended by his parents, who have finally, after all these years, embraced their son as he is, and also his four wonderfully individual older sisters who never stopped doting on him – all of it was magical.

Two days later was the storybook wedding of Jimmy and Annette, Barbara Toothman's son and now daughter-in-law. Annette's father is on the music faculty of The University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, and all of her family are performing musicians. The wedding took place in a sea of music, graceful tradition, hopefulness of bright, fresh youth, and palpable love. Along with nature, this is the kind of experience that helps me in the discouragement about the future that I often feel these days. I'm thinking, though, that it's just a part of growing older, the “what is this world coming to” feeling that threatens my mood and serenity. Hasn't every generation come to that in its later years?

Now we go from magic to magnificence, the Canadian Rockies - Jasper, Banff, and Lake Louise. This is our first visit to this part of Canada. We've been through the Rockies in the U.S. several times, and, of course, the Sierras, then a couple of years ago drove through the southern Utah canyon lands. Those trips were like lead ins to the main show, the mighty, rugged, exquisite Canadian Rockies. We spent three days, exploring Jasper and Banff; lunching in the historic Lodge at Lake Louise; catching sight of a grizzly, preventing us from taking a planned hike because, when present, she and her cubs reign supreme; on to Moraine Lake, into which Van fell, attempting to get just the right picture (the only wound sustained being his pride); and ending with Van surrendering to my earnest desire to go on to Emerald Lake and Takka Falls, in the Yoho Preserve, often missed because it exists in the shadow of the much more widely known Banff National Park.

We could have spent the entire vacation time there, still only scratching the surface of the richness of the area. The gorgeous scenery is marred only by the devastating pine beetle infestation. Normally, the pine beetle is naturally controlled by cold winters, birds, and fires which destroy the older trees. Now, with the winters significantly warmer and fire suppression allowing trees to mature ( the beetles prefer the older trees), it has proved impossible to contain the destruction. They are doing what they can in an attempt to control it, as well as harvesting as much of the destroyed forest as possible, (which has to be done as soon as possible after the trees' demise). It's heartbreaking for me, like nature's equivalent of war or genocide. I comfort myself by remembering the recovery of the forests after the Yellowstone and Point Reyes fires.

Very suddenly, driving along the next day, we found ourselves in a totally opposite natural setting. From the intense verticality of the mountains, we were in the equally intense horizontality of the Canadian plains. The sky became huge, the land stretching out endlessly, the restfulness of the prairies allowing for processing the magnificence of the mountains, of life. It was time to listen to music. Van and I have different musical tastes, and our road trips give us a chance to share our differences with each other. Driving across the plains calls for country music, which we both can get into and which the radio abundantly provides. There is often some wisdom embedded in the hokiness: “Hindsight is knowing where you've been; Foresight is knowing where you're going; Insight is knowing when you've been here too long.”

At this moment, my insight tells me that this blog entry is getting too long. I'm only reaching the end of Chapter Two of our journey – there are three more to go. I'll leave you for the moment with my request for your good thoughts on Monday, and, as always, with my gratitude for your attention.

To be continued.