Looking the elephant in the eye.

So in the couple of months since I started this blog I've been conscious (albeit subconsciously, if that makes any sense) that there's one thing that's been in my thoughts every day since November, even earlier in fact, yet I've found it almost impossible to give it words. A big, fat, couch-dwelling elephant in the room, staring over my shoulder whenever I go to write something for this blog. I've been nervous that acknowledging him out loud might take my mind along a long, scary pathway lined with 'what-ifs' - things that I can't predict and am frustratingly powerless to change. No irony perhaps that it took me 3 months to write about Lucy and yet longer still to write about this.

This past Monday I took the day off and it was at around 3pm that me and the elephant finally came face-to-face - when I accompanied Vicky for one of her last radiation treatments at the BC Cancer Agency. While the building was perhaps not quite as sinister as I'd imagined - since anything that involves the word 'cancer' has an unavoidably ominous air - it's nonetheless the kind of building - with corridors, waiting rooms, changing rooms and 12" steel doors leading into sci-fi equipment rooms - that you hope you'll never have to visit. Not for yourself and certainly not with someone you love.

There I was, feeling so small and somewhat overwhelmed in this place of over-sized machinery and ground-breaking technology, while Vicky led the way, through the maze of corridors, reception desks and waiting rooms, with an air of it being as routine to her now as driving around town. She quickly changed into a hospital gown and a few moments later we entered the treatment room where she methodically climbed up onto the huge, tilted armchair/bed and 3 teenage-looking medics instantly set about lining up lights, buttons, red beams and projected white and blue gridlines across her boob and ribcage. As I watched, a wave of emotion pulled tight around my chest and throat. It was a pleasant relief to have the radiologists explain to me without hesitation all that they were doing and exactly what the process involves. With utmost precision they matched up illuminated gridlines with markers on Vicky's skin, compared a series of notes and settings, all while maintaining a gentle and compassionate dialogue with me about what was what and why. I was happy (and relieved) to see that she's been in such good hands.

In this bizarre, Star Trek-like set-up, Vicky lay patiently and perfectly in position while we left the room, closing the 12" thick door behind us. Outside the radiologists once again began the same precise checking, tweeking and double-checking of buttons and computer monitors while Vicky's radiation was administered through the massive machine that looked like it would swallow her whole. As I watched her on screen my heart swelled with love and intense admiration for her and all that she's had to handle this past while. Yup, there was the mighty fat elephant, as large as life - staring me right in the face and stealing my breath. I felt like all the air was being pressed out of my chest and within seconds I was reaching for a box of tissues on the desk and trying to ask questions through a quivering bottom lip and teary eyes.

Knowing your sister - your best loved friend and support in the whole world - is undergoing cancer treatment is one thing. Seeing her there on a black and white computer screen, almost engulfed by a high-tech, over-sized 50's-style salon hairdryer, while they fire radiation at her, and knowing that this has been her daily routine for the past several weeks, I felt acutely aware of how horribly powerless I've felt to protect her from all of this and just how much that feeling hurts. Have I said enough, done enough, shown enough understanding and support? (Dammit for all the insane overtime that's eaten up my life these past 6 months!) Does she know how much she means to me and how much I've always admired her?

A few more zaps and it was done. I took a few deep breaths and dried my eyes before we all wandered back into the room.

Vicky's treatments finished a couple of days ago and although she's flattened by the tiredness it all brings on, I'm looking forward to celebrating with her, because, quite simply, she's amazing and I'm so lucky - and extremely honoured - to be her sister.

And I'd also like to know why I didn't get to spin the bed or get any stickers and tatoos for going with her.

To join or not to join......that is the Facebook question.

I think it was 2002 when a new no-smoking bylaw came into effect in Vancouver, banning smoking in pubs, clubs, cafes etc etc. As an ardent lifetime non-smoker, my immediate reaction was "Great, no more smoking in pubs....and a long-awaited end to enduring cigarette smoke in my face and coming home stinking like an ashtray!" Experiencing this new bylaw in practice however, I discovered one major social setback that I hadn't even considered. Before the bylaw, I would regularly enjoy a few beers with Vicky and/or friends, boyfriends etc in the comfort of the local hostelries, where we'd sit and chat, laugh and eat and drink amid the sporadic (and sometimes overwhelming) clouds of another round of cigarettes being shared. While I’ve always hated cigarette smoke - particularly having it blow in my face and the stench of it in my hair and on my clothes - there was nonetheless something oddly comforting about it. Nostalgic even. As the evening progressed the smoke over a few beers would bother me less, mainly because, at the pub, it was all just part and parcel of a couple of hours socializing. What was I going to do, not go out because of the cigarette smell? But it wasn't until it was banished by Big Brother's Bylaw, that I fully appreciated just how much cigarette smells also symbolized the aroma of hanging out with friends, or family, relaxing, laughing, having serious conversations or simply idle banter about the mundane and the ridiculous.

Once the bylaw had its new stranglehold and Vancouver’s Fun Police no doubt patted themselves on the back for their latest ‘victory’, I couldn’t help noticing that it suddenly felt like everyone was actually smoker - maybe they had been all along, but while they stayed seated at the table, you actually got beyond noticing it any more. So I was about half way into my first pint when I found myself suddenly abandoned, waving goodbye to the smokers, who - banished to the outside now - huddled together for a group nicotine hug on the sidewalk, passing the lighter among them and tossing their heads back as they savoured that first puff. With their common thread of being antisocial ‘delinquents’, sent outside to continue their disgusting habit - I confess I watched them with a certain amount of envy that mingled with a strange sense of social awkwardness. Left behind at the empty table, I felt instantly recognizable as a non-smoking goody-two-shoes. 'They' had all the air of being the in-crowd, bonding and making new friends amid their swirls of chatter and cigarette smoke. Meanwhile, I caught myself, an instant Billy no-mates, now scrutinizing the condensation as it ran down my beer glass or staring at every cobweb, paint chip, dusty picture frame and torn beer mat or focusing on the menu even when I wasn’t the least bit hungry. If the desired effect of this new bylaw was to deter people from smoking, then it was failing pretty miserably in my book. It almost made me want to start! - just so I could be part of the mini crowd that gathered out on the patio or in front of the door, laughing and chatting come rain or shine.

So where am I going with all this??? Ahh yes, Facebook (aka Crackbook). It's something I've felt uncomfortable with from the start and those who know me have heard me belittle and grumble about it, having intentionally and stoically avoided it for as long as I can remember. (When the heck did it first start anyway?) And yet now basically everyone I know is on it. It seems that whenever we get together in person, they're already way ahead of me in conversation, laughing and sharing their latest insider knowledge about each other's lives. When I look blank or confess to being out of the loop, I get the ol’ “oh, you’re not on Facebook”. Heck, they even know stuff about me before I get chance to open my mouth. Lorne and I met up with friends for dinner recently and they were asking me what I thought of Port Townsend and commenting on the photos etc before I’d even breathed a word about it…..because they’d read it all on Lorne’s Facebook page several days ago already. (Since Lorne succumbed to the ‘cult’ last year already and he actually knows more about what Vicky, Mark and Graham are up to lately than I do!) Suddenly it seems everyone has all the ‘Breaking News’ on friends, neighbours, co-workers, relatives and relative strangers – from across the city, other countries, and even on other continents. Heck, for all I know, even from galaxies far, far away in as much as all this is alien to me.

So here's the thing......having lived a good 36 years without smoking a single cigarette, I suddenly discovered (while honeymooning in Cuba) that good cigars are really quite outstanding.......and having spent my whole life adamantly swearing off and never touching a single drop of Scotch/Whisky, Lorne helped introduce me to its wonderful and broad range of exquisite tastes and I can’t wait to take this new-found knowledge and appreciation on a few 'educative' distillery tours.

Could it be ... the time has come the Walrus said.....for me to venture into the dark and long-snarked-about territory of the Facebook world???? Is that the Fat Facebook Lady I hear singing...or rather, chanting…"One of us.......one of us.......one of us........”?

Besides, I guess I have no excuse any longer, because as Graham carefully pointed out (in a note on Lorne’s ‘Wall’), they even make keyboards for my Doomlord-size hands these days.

I Love Lucy...and I miss her every day.

"Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." (Vicki Harrison)

My little Lucy, what a treasure. I want to feel the softness of her fur and her wet nose against my cheek. I miss her gentle spazziness and stomping gait that always made us laugh. I miss her loving cuddles that made everything else simply float away. It's not right that there's an empty space in the corner window where she'd stretch out and look so content, soaking up the sun. It hurts so much that she's not here to climb on my lap the moment I sit down or trying to snuggle into my legs and somehow make herself extra-heavy when I try to move her. Whenever I look to the armchair, I catch myself still expecting (hoping) to see her there.
My thoughts turn to her every day and even though I try not to think about the painful emptiness of losing her, I'm nonetheless still fighting back tears when she's not there to come home to at the end of the day. I feel blessed to have had the privilege of sharing over 11 years of my life with her. She was my emotional support in good times and bad, my comfort, my faith and my unconditional friend and companion. From the moment she won my heart (advertized as a 'special needs cat' needing a new home) she was my soft and furry 'work in progress' as I worked with her through her nervousness, her fears, the unknown traumas that evidently marked her early years, the nightmares that sent her running from a deep sleep and her fear of brooms, vacuums and angry voices. By all accounts she was a bit of an emotional train wreck when I adopted her in 1998 and I devoted myself to nurturing her emotional and physical well-being, helping her grow and winning her trust - for which I was rewarded every day with her unwavering love and warmth, her wonderfully adorable nature and all her delightfully endearing quirky twitchy, stumbly and thumpy spazziness that made her so unique....and just so 'Lucy'. The little cat who'd come flying out of nowhere and onto the bed, diving and sliding around under the sheets as we tried to put on new linens or burying herself among the warm laundry, fresh from the tumble dryer, before we even had chance to fold it. The little cat who couldn't meow properly (except for occasional trips to the vet) but who managed a squeak of enthusiastic anticpation whenever she thought a treat or plate of food was coming her way.

Admittedly, when Lorne first moved in, I was more worried that Lucy would not handle it at all and might retreat into her former shy and anxious self - but Lorne showed just as much caring, patience and love for her and all her spazziness - that he was able to finally win her trust too, to the point she loved cuddling and laying on him just as much as with me. She even surprised us both by accomodating the invasion of three new cats that Lorne brought with him into our home.

In this picture (taken with my iphone, hence the blurriness) she'd been nosing around in a bag of stuff we'd just bought and managed to get the handle around her neck till she proudly sported the bag like a superhero cape. (Thankfully she came out of this better than she did shortly after I adopted her, when she did the very same thing nosing around in a bag of potted plants I'd just purchased. At that time she freaked out when she lifted her head and, feeling the weight of the bag handle around her neck, proceeded to run in circles at 60mph around & around my apartment, sending soil, petals and bashed up pansies and african violets right across the room.)

Little by little Lucy flourished and gained confidence, agility (gradually ceasing to overshoot furniture or fall flat on her face), her personality blossomed and she shared her endless charm with us all (even if she initially ran off and hid under the duvet from most people.)

The only thing that hurts more than the thought of facing the days ahead without my little Lucy Love, is the stark emptiness I imagine of having lived my life for the past 11.5 years, had we never found one another. She was truly loved and unreservedly happy – an absolute blessing and a glowing ray of sunshine in my life. I am forever changed, blessed and spiritually enriched thru the privilege of sharing the precious time we had together. While it hurts like hell to have lost her so soon and so quickly (to an out of the blue diagnosis of stomach cancer just 6 weeks earlier - in mid-November), and my heart literally aches for missing her so much, I try to take comfort knowing that she was such a happy cat - she felt very loved and there's no doubt that she absolutely loved us just as much in return.

She took a little piece of my heart away with her and I don't think I'll ever stop missing her but I'm truly thankful for having her be such a wonderful part of my life. I love Lucy....(aka Lu-lu, Loopy-Lu, Spaz, Lucy Button, Lucy-Luv-Love, ...etc.) and she is very, very missed.

Lucy: 1996 (?) to Dec. 28, 2009.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. Kahlil Gibran

Earth - by Martha Jablonski-Jones

I bought a painting today :-) This one, called 'Earth', by Martha Jablonski Jones. I met up with my friend, Astra, a couple of weeks ago for brunch at a funky little pub 'The Whip' a few blocks from home. It was the first time I'd eaten there in ages and while I was chatting away I couldn't help noticing the artwork around the place, especially this image - on the back wall about 8ft behind Astra's right shoulder.

Taking the theme of the electric power lines and poles that are seen in alleys everywhere around Vancouver (including some of the less scenic areas), Martha describes her 'Electric' series as "Animism meets Hydro! Power and all its metaphors, as symbolized by city hydro structures. The balance of power between the man-made and the elemental; living forces of the invisibles" where each painting features these recurring 'characters' in diverse eye-catching, intriguing and sometimes whimsical settings - hinting at a secret life in things we see as commonplace. The painting I bought is also named "Elements: Land". I love the colours and the air of everything blending seamlessly with nature. It makes me think of sitting on a balcony and watching to the world go by at the end of a lazy, hot summer's day.

Today was the last day of Martha's show at The Whip and it was a pleasure to meet her when I went to collect the painting this evening. There are some incredible artists in Vancouver and I'm perfectly happy with this choice....now I just have to figure out where the heck I'm going to hang it.


(Another local artist I really like is Ryan Heshka and I still kick myself for not buying one of his funky retro-comic-book-hero type pieces a few years ago when Vicky and I met him at a fairly small show by several local designers and artists. I think that was part of my push to buy today's painting.)