After Years

by Ted Kooser

Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.
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This reminded me of something I posted last year. I wonder, if you've spent a decade or two (or more) with a partner, do you forget what this feels like? Or do you remember, and appreciate the flood of gratitude at having found someone?

Ted Kooser is one of the nation’s most highly regarded poets and served as the United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004 - 2006. During his second term he won the Pulitzer Prize for his book of poems, Delights & Shadows (Copper Canyon Press, 2004).

Why Borange?

From whence cometh the blog name?

When I was a 'tween and Sis was 5-6 years old, I told her -- with the usual pomposity and condescension reserved only for her -- that nothing rhymes with "orange." Without even looking up from our little arts & crafts table, she said, "Borange." Ha! With the usual indignation reserved only for her, I said, "Borange isn't a real word!" And she replied, "You didn't say it had to be a real word," leaving me sputtering in a stew of pomposity and indignation.

I don't know why I remember this 100 years later, but it stuck with me. I wish she'd disagreed with me more often. I wish I'd told her that I loved it when she disagreed with me.

Unfortunately, some schmuck named Bob created a blog called "Borange"... eight freakin' years ago. He's never posted anything to it, but apparently Google will let you leave up a blog forever, even an empty one, and hog the blog name forever. So the "real" name of my blog is LaCootina, a pseudo-Spanish diminutive of The Coot, which Joyce started calling me 10-20 years ago. The subtitle is "Because I said So," because -- of course -- that blog name was already taken, too. The most recent statistics I could find (after 17 seconds of grueling, in-depth research) indicated...

"Blog search engine Technorati says it's now tracking over 70 million blogs, with 120,000 new blogs created every day. Gartner predicts that sometime in the first half of 2007, the number of bloggers will peak at 100 million."

Figuring the web grows exponentially, there are probably 3-500 million blogs by now. I bet 7 million of them are empty blogs, hogged by Bob the Schmuck.

Good Friday

Went for a Zometa fix yesterday, and the labs showed I'm finally making a little hemoglobin and white blood cells; no transfusion required. (Red cells and platelets are still lagging.) One stick for labs, one stick for Zometa. One very quick and painless shot of Aranes (Arasep?). I guess it's all in the wrist. Hallelujah.

A dear friend recovered from a long relationship with a true Bad Boy. She found herself a Real Man a while ago, and last weekend, they eloped in Vegas. Hooray for true love... and common sense.

Another friend has committed to a trip to Europe next year - her first. She also committed to getting healthy and dropping some pounds so she'll be in peak condition to enjoy the trip. Hooray for courage, adventure, and taking care of yourself.

Shaun & Chéri

I've had a slew of bad-to-mediocre movies from Netflix lately; the notable exception was 8 episodes of Shaun the Sheep: Back in the Ba-a-ath. It's another claymation masterpiece I've seen occasionally on the Disney channel. The DVD was laugh out loud funny. If you're a fan of Wallace & Grommett or Rex the Runt, don't miss Shaun.

It's not often I recommend a bad movie, but here's a real stinker for you: Chéri, starring Michelle "Duck Lips" Pfeiffer and Kathy Bates. Based on a tale by the infamous Colette, this is the story of an old ho (Bates), her son Chéri, and a not-quite-as-old ho (Quacky). In her early retirement, Quacky* takes in Chéri and they live together for five or six years, but when he agrees to an arranged marriage -- to the daughter of yet another wealthy old ho -- Quacky decides maybe she really did love Chéri after all.

There's lots of tedious posing and brooding, but most troubling to me was Rupert Friend, the actor who portrayed Chéri. He wasn't just "not my type," I found him repulsive. Maybe it's a Continental thing, but I do not get the attraction for these wormy-white, sunken chested, dirty-haired, uber-effeminate types. I guess I am waaay out of touch with what's sexy nowadays. Gimme a beefy Gregory Peck or Cary Grant any day. Anyways, his sulky, androgynous, wooden character made it impossible for me to believe this was a love story or anything close to it. It doesn't seem possible that this film reunited the writer, director and actress who collaborated in Dangerous Liaisons, another rich period piece but one that was filled with passion and drama.

So why on earth am I recommending this stinkbomb? Because despite all of the above, the movie is gorgeous. It is set at the apex of La Belle Époque, the gilded age. I'm actually swooning as I remember the clothes, the jewelry, the hats (such hats!), the furniture, the cars, and more. The gap between the haves and have-nots was becoming a huge chasm during this period, but oh, to be a have! It is a sumptuous visual feast... I recommend watching it with the sound off.

*Quacky's character was named Len, or Leah, or Lee, or Laird, depending on who's speaking.
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"Okay, Aunt Crankypants, are there any actresses you do like??"  You betcha! Diane Lane, Sandra Bullock, Susan Sarandon, Tea Leoni, Audrey Tatou, Emily Blunt, Charlize Theron, just to name a few.

Big C Update

I knew even before I went for labs yesterday morning that I'd be sent downtown for a transfusion. Not because of increasing fatigue or a half dozen other symptoms, but because the BABONG BABONG BABONG headaches were back. Tylenol doesn't touch it, and if I drop something on the floor, I just leave it there.

Sure enough, I got the word to head downtown. I stopped at the Villa to let Molly out and to inhale some lunch -- remember: avoid hospital food at all costs! -- and was at the Transfusatorium by 1pm. Except they still didn't have my "Type & Cross" (which was drawn at 10am) and once that's done, it takes at least an hour to get blood... I was looking at a 2-3 hour wait before I even started the transfusion. I decided that my aggravation threshhold had been reached for the day and insisted on coming back the next day (today). So the trip wouldn't be a total waste, I let them draw a second sample for a Type & Cross in case the first one vaporized, and I got a double dose of Aracept - one in each arm. I think this stuff is supposed to help me grow red blood cells. But for some reason, the shots feel like they are given through a rusty, barbed harpoon that's been dipped in vinegar. Because of the size of the dose, I had to get one shot in each arm. Lots of gasping and deep breathing.

I knew I was taxed to my limit so I asked one of my wonderful hoodies, Bill, to drop me off and pick me up and he graciously obliged. Today, I went in at 9:30am and was done at 12:30pm, which was much, much better than the 7-8 hour ordeal I would have endured the day before. I expect to be feeling much better in 24 hours or so, but I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this: the horrible chemo, the transfusions, the nausea, the excruciating shots. When I see Dr. A, I hope I have some very impressive numbers to persuade me to keep going.

Coq au Vin avec Les Hoodies

I finally saw Julie & Julia last week and fell in love, like most people who saw it. Most of my hoodies are already Francophiles and I think it's safe to say that most are now also Juliaphiles. The acting was first rate, the scenes of Paris in the 50s were enchanting, and the food... oh, my goodness, the food really did verge on "food porn." I also thought the bonus features on the DVD were as enjoyable as the movie. There were funny and fascinating interviews with the actors, the author, the director.

Hoodies Kerry & Mary Ann also saw the movie last week, and were inspired to host a French dinner. With Supernurse G's permission, I was able to join them. I've been in near-isolation for at least a couple of months. I've missed my pals, and probably several outstanding meals, too. Before I could graciously extricate myself, I was caught in a round of hugs. I just decided just enjoy the hugs, hoping there won't be consequences. Mary Ann's Coq au Vin got several rounds of applause, and my presence was noted and toasted, which embarrassed me but filled me with warm fuzzies. That has got to be good for my immune system, right?

Winter 1.02

Well, hush my mouth and call me Frosty! We've gotten about 4" of snow so far, and it sure looks like we could get another 2" or so. As far as the weather hysterics: yeah, even a broken clock is right twice a day.

While trolling for weather news, I see gas is predicted to hit $3/gallon within days and $4/gallon by summer. Anyone else hear this? I thought we were beyond the price gouging...