Revisiting the 1960s with Rebel Spirits
This is a print of painting Gregory Thornton created to honor these casulaties of the 1960s.
Ever get an email from someone you don’t know, and it turns out not to be from a Nigerian prince who has an inheritance for you if you only wire $2500? A few weeks ago, I did. The email was from the Stephen Fagin, executive director of The Sixth Floor Museum in Dallas, Texas. The museum chronicles the assassination and legacy of President John F. Kennedy; interprets the Dealey Plaza National Historic Landmark District and the John F. Kennedy Memorial Plaza; and presents contemporary culture within the context of presidential history. Who knew? It’s located in The Texas School Book Depository where Lee Harvey Oswald perched himself to assassinate President Kennedy. Anyway, their special exhibit titled, “Rebel Spirits” hosts a canvas print of a painting my dad, Gregory J. Thornton, created in the 1960s. My dad’s client and president of a large printing company purchased the original painting, and Coretta King, Martin Luther King’s widow had one of the prints.
The museum’s executive director tracked me down because they are creating an awesome collection of interviews with people related to items in their museum. The director set up an interview with me to discuss the painting, the painter and the 1960s for the museum’s oral history collection. Last week, we spoke on the phone for an hour. I can’t say that I felt all that eloquent, but I seemed to have pulled off the interview. I sent the museum a copy of the thank-you letter Coretta King sent to him along with some other vintage documents I managed to locate in my files. If I find more info on the audio cassette tapes, I’ll send the museum a copy of the digitized recording for them to use with the exhibit and/or archives.
Meanwhile, I also digitized 10 more audio cassette tapes. This batch was a sorry sample. Two tapes were broken and half the others sound like a conversation in a train station during a hailstorm. Nevertheless, I found some interesting segments.
Stay tuned. –And if I ever get to Dallas, I’m going to check out The Sixth Floor Museum!
Onward!
Emily
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )What ever happened to Emily’s blog?
Helloooooo! With Memorial Day on the horizon, I remembered that it’s been exactly one year since I wrote a blog post, so it’s about time for another. Last May 27, I’d just finished a show at Women and Children Bookstore with Andy Karol. Afterwards, Andy and I met at the Carnivale restaurant for lunch and decided working together was too cool to do only once. That meeting led to a proposal inspired by tips from artist, Sergio Gomez and we’ve been on a roll ever since. In fact, I’ve sold more than 200 copies of my book, Lending Color to the Otherwise Absurd.
In the last few months, we’ve performed at Loyola University and Harold Washington Library as well as independently at Niles North High School. Andy’s earned a place on the team to go to the National Poetry Slam and I’ve had art shows at the library, August House Gallery, and Ed Hinkley Studio, where I continue to be inspired in Ed’s classes. I also took a class in storytelling with Scott Whitehair to exercise my performance skills. At this time, I refuse to explore any additional art forms, so don’t suggest I try to learn the harp.
What’s Next?
Next month, I’ll have art openings at the ZhouB Art Center on 31st Street in Chicago on June 17, and Expressions Graphics in Oak Park at a date to be announced. I hope to post regularly from now on, but not annoyingly so. For those who’ve followed me from the early days, at four years out, my numbers are still good, and I’m so not talking about the scale!
Have a great holiday weekend!
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The Cover Story
Introducing…Lending Color to the Otherwise Absurd
After writing several posts recognizing illness as a smack upside the head to make fundamental changes in areas of life that hold one back, I looked at my bucket list and am I tackling #2. Number 1 was getting a website. The second item is getting my poems and “wall poems” published. This is a long-overdue project and I’m not very patient these days.
I took a chance and filled out a grant application for an Individual Artist Grant from the City of Chicago last spring and guess what! I got it, which means I can’t procrastinate anymore! Introducing Lending Color to the Otherwise Absurd. With the help of some design cohorts, the book’s cover looks great and uses a painting I created with the book in mind.
I didn’t want to send my manuscript to a zillion editors, wait for one to accept it and get sent to market my book for them, so self-publishing seemed a logical choice. BookBaby.com has talked nicely to me and can accommodate the grant budget, so I’ve given the project to them. Hopefully, all will go smoothly. I am planning on a fall release date.
I’ll keep you posted.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 16 so far )Sometimes, It’s all About Numbers
None in 100,000…and I’m not talking Lotto
Two weeks ago, I had my lovely monthly meeting with Dr. G. He spared me the six month bone marrow biopsy by trading it for a simple “give-me-100,000-blood-cells test.” This is a simple blood draw that gets sent to a hidden bunker somewhere on the east coast where they magically examined 100,000 cells for any trace of those immature leukemia cells. The numbers came in: O <- That’s a zero; not an emoticon. 🙂 <-That’s an emoticon.
Numbers, Numbers
Well, one of the side effects of Trentenoin is weight gain BECAUSE I ALWAYS FEEL HUNGRY! I needed that like a whole in the head. If I had to get cancer treatments, why couldn’t they make me nauseous and skinny. (They tell you that people with extra weight do better with chemo.) So, I’ve put on almost 20 pounds since the diagnosis and it’s not like I could afford to. So once again, I’ve decided to ride the diet wagon. It’s a ride I know well. I get to an ideal weight about once a decade, but I have to admit, I haven’t been back there since before the millennium.
I’ve written about 40 million words on healthy eating, so I don’t need tips about the lowest calorie foods or fat-free delicacies. I need willpower advice. Hence, I am examining my cue, actions and rewards as outlined in The Power of Habit. I’m also trying to throw in a little more exercise.
Part of the issue has always been my ambitions. I never cared about sports or marathons. All the action happens in my head, which spins with Olympic potential. Runners, I will write and get paid and I will give you money to feel good about myself. However, age is catching up with me and I’m feeling more achy and unbalanced, so I need to haul around less weight. I figure, I’m just going to eat less, weigh myself once a week, walk, play basketball in the park across the street, swim and keep a list of numbers that I hope will decline. Anyone want to join me?
One More Bit on My Health
About a month ago, a sinus infection took me out for a good two weeks. After a round of antibiotics and every sinus remedy available, it cleared up only to return with a vengeance last week. Stuffiness, coughing, vertigo when moving from lying down to getting up—awful . I guess it’s because I planted flowers instead of painting them! To cope, I’ve been on Allegra for the past few years. Now I’m wondering if allergies are the immune system’s overreaction to elements, if antihistamines suppress the response, is there a link to cancer. I mean, isn’t the immune system supposed to go after cancer infiltrators? If antihistamines tell my system that everything’s cool, doesn’t that give cancer cells a green light. I’m wondering if this has ever been studied. Google…here I come.
Farewell to Five, Yes, Five Paintings!
I’ve been studying with Ed Hinkley for about four years. He’s awesome. I didn’t realize how awesome until I took a class at the Palette & Chisel downtown. Here, I receive a PDF of a barn or a forest or a river or a forest with a river. You get the picture? Then, step-by step, we all do our own rendition of the teacher’s savvy strokes. Argh. I haven’t painted anything I actually like yet and today is the last class.
HOWEVER, Ed brings out our unique styles and throws in technique as needed, which I’ve learned is more often than I realized. The result is a group of artists who don’t look like they’re in the same class. Excellent. Then a few of us participate in spring group show at August House Gallery each year. The first year, I sold four paintings. The second time, I sold nothing and frankly, I remember having a lot going on and not feeling like I got my act together. This year, I asked the “universe” for a heads up on my artistic direction by selling at least how many I sold the first time. I’m happy to say I sold five! Plus, one was to a young couple I didn’t know. Cool.
I’ve been asked if I feel sad when someone walks away with a painting. Hell no. I’m so happy, flattered, validated that someone will enjoy a tiny piece of me, I could cry. If I want to look at it, I have pictures. And, I can paint more.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 4 so far )Making and Keeping Connections
Last time I wrote, I was anticipating a dentist visit. I’m happy to report that my dentist rebuilt the broken part of my tooth so no root canal will be necessary. Yay!
The Power of the Blog
A few weeks ago, I received a comment from a young woman who also had been diagnosed with APL. Within hours we exchanged emails, phone numbers and had a great conversation about our shared experiences. She lives in the area and will celebrate her two-year anniversary in a couple months. (Congratulations, Marci.) If you’ve ever suffered from ANYTHING, you know how rewarding it can be to share details with someone else who has gone through the same thing. Thank you, Marci, for sharing.
Evil Potion
Tretinoin is Back on the Menu
Three weeks without Tretinoin and my scaly, red skin cleared up. I even had a little more energy. The achiness and fatigue still hung on, but I felt better overall. Amazing. Now, after another week of the evil potion, I am back to lying in bed until 11 a.m. and lathering on oodles of lotion. Urgh.
Since the drug is also used to treat psoriasis (in lesser quantities), I have now have great skin. Not that I have a skin problem, but there’s definitely an improvement. Now if I could just make it less scaly.
On an even brighter note, I went for my second haircut! I’m keeping the short look. It’s really thick, but the salt and pepper is not exactly close to my formerly dark blond hair. I’m wondering if this is the new color or the interim color. We shall have to wait and see.
Other than those symptoms, I’ve only had a few moments of chemo brain…like when I totally zoned and got a call from a friend I’d scheduled a lunch date with. She called me from the designated restaurant at the designated time wondering if she’d mistaken the time or place. She didn’t. I left the house and luckily was there in less than ten minutes. Sorry, Susan.
To Flu Shot or Not
With the doomsday reports about the flu epidemic, I considered getting a flu shot, but decided to pass. After all, my system has been pummeled by drugs over the past year and I think I’m better off risking it. I still feel a little guilty—kind of like I decided to leave the door unlocked. None of my doctors have even suggested it. They have asked if I want one, and when I say, “not really,” they move to the next question without even telling me to wash my hands. It’s like they want to tell me not to get one, but they can’t. So far, so good. I haven’t been sick…knock on wood.
Another Poem in a Painting
I started art classes again and last week, I finished another poem in a painting. This one was a challenge to lay down the poem in the piece, so we made some adjustments. Here’s the text:
Counteract
Who counts
the bodies?
How many missing limbs
equal one?
Which body bags,
lost tags
add to the tally?
Bodies that fall
seconds before the declaration?
or minutes
after the truce?
Who counts the body
of knowledge lost
in clouded memories?
Who counts
the piece in the parent
when the epaulets show
through the peephole?
Or the low voice on the phone
asks for his parents?
Who counts the child’s body
if it’s the enemy’s?
How many are missing in action?
Covered under smoldering ash?
Who counts the spirits
when bodies become armor?
when eyes become empty bowls?
when people become photos?
I now have about 15 paintings with one of my poems in them. I’m excited about getting my book of poetry together and will include them. I’ve got about 80 pages so far. That should be enough. One has to stop somewhere.
Reliving the 80s
Last night Scott and I went to the Old Town School of Music for a student/teacher tribute to Madonna and Prince. It was pretty funny and brought back memories of my kids listening to Madonna songs. I’d read about it on www.gapersblock.com, which often has events that you’re not likely to find in the Tribune’s art section. The show was great fun. There’s so much more soul to a low-budget show than the big-budget program. However, we bowed out a little early. I was yawning and Scott had met his 120-minute limit for sitting still in one place. That’s another good thing about small productions: You don’t feel obligated to stay longer than you want to just because of the price of your ticket.
Pink Flamingos…Here we come!
Scott and I are SO overdue for a vacation, so we booked flights for a Florida fly/drive trip. Our friends are snowbirds and invited us for a visit. They live south of Tampa from December to March-ish so we are flying in and out of Tampa with a mega road trip through the state. I also have a friend in Jacksonville, so I am looking forward to seeing her and soon basking in some sun.
Birthday #59
This week, I will be 59. Geez. Creepy. Although, I’m truly lucky to have lived to be 59. Part of me wants to have a huge party and another part of me wants to roll into a corner with a candle and a chocolate cake. I’ve always wanted a “garden” party, but a Chicago January is not the time to host an outdoor party. Then I thought maybe I’d have a 59-1/2 year party. After all, that’s an age when one can start eying those retirement funds, but that would encroach on my daughters’ birthdays, which both land in July. Plus, my oldest will be 40, which actually makes me feel older than being 60! 😛
I think I’ll save the party for the big 6-0 and settle for the chocolate cake.
Considering it took me a few weeks to gather up this much to say, I think my days are winter-slow. Oh sure, I have stuff to do. We finally cleaned up the holiday tree and ornaments, but the frenzy is over and it’s sort of quiet. I have learned to appreciate that.
Stay warm. Have fun. Thanks for reading!
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 5 so far )Saturday, October 6, 2012 Mug Shots and Chemo Saga
At 8:45 a.m. on Wednesday, I was off for blood work to prove my ability to withstand my first dose of my last cycle of this chemo drug, daunorubicin. About five minutes away from the hospital, I received a call from the nurse telling me that I needed to have a MUGA scan before I could resume chemo. It seems the MUGA scan determines if the chemo has caused my heart to skip a beat. Take my word, it hasn’t. I couldn’t remember ever having this test before, but they told me I had one in April. Go figure. How out of it was I back then? How out-of-it am I right now? Why isn’t this test called getting a MUG shot? Pay attention to the road, Emily. You have chemo brain.
The problem was, they couldn’t do the scan until 1 p.m., so they wanted to know if I wanted to stay home or come in for the blood work and wait out the interim. Since I was only five minutes away and was equipped with my netbook I figured I’d just come in for the blood work, hunker down in a corner with my computer, have lunch and pick it up from there. Hey, I’m flexible.
My plan proceeded as plan. I caught up on email, went to the café for lunch and checked in with the nuclear medicine receptionist, who I had earlier begged to let me know if an appointment opened up. She didn’t. The test would take about 1.5 hours. Fun.
The tech led me to a little room. He looked like the poster boy for Dweeb Awareness Month. Lanky. Glasses too big for his face. Out of control curly dark hair. Anyway, he explained what would go down because I couldn’t remember ever having this test last April. That still bothers me. Are they billing for bogus tests? I remember them checking for this anomaly, but not with this test. Weird.
Well, took two vials of blood and proceeded to add radioactive isotopes into the vials which would then be injected back into me after a thorough swishing. Of course, all the hazmat precautions where in order. While we waited 15 minutes for the blood to reach its destination, he asked what kind of music I liked because he would play anything I wanted during the scans. I told him I liked any kind of music for a half hour, except maybe rap for 15 minutes. Then we proceeded to the machine that looked pretty much like an MRI, but had flat panels emerge over my chest. There were to be three views that took about five minutes each with adjustment time between them.
The tech had obviously used my age and gender to select the music. I listened to Carole King, John Denver, James Taylor and other soft rockers from the 60s and 70s. Not terrible, but I would have been cool with just going to the happy place in my head. The tunes were a distraction, but at least they didn’t make me want to get up and dance, which would have been a sure deal with someone like Santana.
When he finished, he said they’d have the results by morning. I said that wouldn’t work because I needed the results for one of three chemo treatments over the next three days and waiting would go into Saturday when the Center is closed. He said he’d ask for a “wet read” which means “right away.” I learned the phrase is a throw-back to days when the scan really was on film and hadn’t yet dried. Cool.
When I was cut loose, I went back to the Infusion Center for the treatment. It is now almost 3 p.m. and the space is much quieter. What’s really interesting is that the nurses are more real. All that morning fresh cheer has worn off and one is bitching about her teenagers. I would never here this in the a.m. Then she apologized for being so negative. I replied that her attitude’s authenticity was refreshing. (She’s one of the most fake cheery nurses.) When the scan results cleared, she loaded me up with an IV of anti nausea meds and then injected the vial of daunorubicin after putting on her protective gear. I am feeling like a walking toxic waste dump. This drug makes you pee red, but I’ve only seen peachy colors. Maybe I’m sufficiently hydrated. Cool.
I reminded the nurse that this drug is supposed to be given 24 hours apart, so maybe my 9 a.m. appointment the next day wasn’t the best scheduling idea. She agreed and got Thursday and Friday changed to afternoon appointments, which they seem to
So… now I wait for more hair to fall out, more exhaustion and my immune system to crash, which usually happens in about 10 days. I’ve been through this before, so I’ll get through it again. No biggie.
What to be for Halloween?
We are invited to two Halloween parties. One is a huge family event at my daughter’s house and the other is at a friend’s. I asked my son-in-law who I could be that my current hairstyle might accommodate.I look like a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline. He suggested a Buddhist monk. I like it. Not only is that my real spiritual leanings, it’s easy: three yards of cheapo orange polyester and prayer beads. I will post pics when I get it together.
Almost Finished the Sunflower Painting—Yay!
During my hiatus from posts, I finished my painting and am figuring out how to add the poem into the sky. It’s a poem that occurred to me in France while driving through the countryside and seeing the fields of sunflowers.
Not Unlike Sheep
A field of sunflowers —
where do they turn in the dark?
They do not lie down close to the night’s sky reach above or run
to seek sun.
Do they rely on the moon?
Forget their addiction to sunlight?
Strain light from stars?
Face each other in confusion?
Sleep, knowing a new day will dawn?
Surrender to darkness?
Whatever the answer,
they grow, rise, feed and die
with the seasons
grounded in green and yellow patchwork across the horizon
shedding seeds for generations.
* * *
There a lot of other events over the past two weeks that were wonderful and fun, but I feel the need to move on to more rather than report everything. I hope to keep a tighter, consistent rein on posting, but we’ll see. Thanks so much for continuing to read. i love to hear your comments too. The blog is set for me to review comments before they post, so if you comment and it doesn’t show up right away, it should soon. Thanks again and enjoy your weekend.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 7 so far )September 5, 2012 Extreme Family Reunion… Before Chemo Returns
OK….My brother arrived a few weeks ago from Dubai. My in-laws arrived with their spouse last week. One couple came from Austin, Texas on Friday evening and the other couple via Hawaii from Sydney, Australia on the previous Tuesday. Saturday we had breakfast at my mother-in-laws. We visited the Art Institute of Chicago for the Roy Lichtenstein exhibit. 
We saw the movie Hope Springs (which I’m happy to say that it didn’t portray our six-year marriage. we celebrate September 30). That night, we all descended on the poetry slam where I read my love poem to Scott.
Before the slam, we went to the Shedd Aquarium while I got a few things done at home and prepared for the Labor Day Brunch that we’d decided to throw for 15 people. Crazy, right? Take that, leukemia!
The brunch guests were all family and people who feel like family. They are aware of my diagnosis, so I took comfort in having a great excuse for embracing imperfection. One of the highlights was Veronica training Anthony and Alyssa in server skills to help take drink orders—complete with paper mustaches, bow ties and the obligatory towel draped across their arms. 
Our last meal together was snarfing down pizza at Giordanos. It was all awesome. With my background, it’s refreshing that siblings and in-laws are mature enough to get together without drama and dysfunction—even the kids. But I know the drama is the fun part, so I’ll go on to other topics.
Cancer Drama
Today, after my two-week hiatus, I was back in the Cancer Center at 9 a.m. for the beginning of the end. This time it’s the Daunorobicin and Atra with nausea medication. And of course, the PICC line, that 15-inch tubing that goes into my upper arm, through my veins and into my heart to dump the drugs. This is my fourth insertion, so I don’t know why my anxiety level was higher than ever? Maybe because it’s my fourth one and I’ve developed a love/hate relationship with it?
Picc a Vein, Any Vein
OK…the Picc line means you don’t have to be pricked every time they take something out or put something in your veins, but it is damn inconvenient too. I had to buy lightweight blouses for summer with longer sleeves to cover it. Then I started wearing short sleeves with a bandage. It seemed to me it’s better to look like you’ve got tennis elbow than chemo treatments. Then I started to not give a shit, at least around the house…which meant if someone rang the office bell, I felt I had to quickly install the wrap. Then there’s bathing. I have to put this rubber armband around my arm because the insertion point cannot get wet. Getting it wet is on the “Call your doctor immediately” section of the discharge instructions. This little ritual gets old fast.
Plus, the procedure is intimidating. You are clothed in a gown, and I don’t mean chiffon, and taken to a surgical room where four people stand in basically hazmat suits acquiring and sorting their collection of overpriced medical supplies. My arm is laid out perpendicular to my body for a straighter path to the heart. They wash it down with green stuff that makes me look like the Hulk’s cousin. They tell me to look away so I don’t breathe on the site and infect myself with my own germs. A physician’s assistant warns me that I’ll feel a “prick and burn, prick and burn, prick and burn” over and over as the numbing Lidocaine is injected. Meanwhile, I huge alien craft descends to three inches over my chest to reveal my inner workings on a screen the PA uses to feed the line through. I can’t help wondering if this equipment will be found to cause cancer in another five years. I want to go to my happy place. But this isn’t going to last much longer and I don’t want them thinking I’ve passed out. Bad form.
In a few more minutes, I’m down the hall for a blood draw. By the way, Scott is with me because we don’t know exactly how I’ll feel when I leave today. Besides, he’s good moral support. After my blood is declared healthy enough to pollute, I get IV anti-nausea drugs. Then comes the daunorubicin. It’s in a HUGE syringe that gets injected into the Picc line slower than our dripping bathroom faucet. It’s also red and makes you pee red after a few days. This could be alarming if you didn’t expect it. The session was followed by a weird pressure in my back on only the right side. The nurse took my vitals again and my blood pressure was a mean 183/109! At the beginning, everything was normal. So we waited a bit to see if this was a passing phenomena. It was. On to the pharmacy where I picked up one week of Atra meds for $1800. Geez. Luckily, Blue Cross is my friend, right now.
Kudos to Effleukemia
On a more positive note. One of my fellow cancer comrades/fellow bloggers, who also cycles just scored a column for Cycling Illustrated’s online mag. That’s cooler, but even cooler is that he inspired me to do something similar. I’ve got the cancer card. I write and paint. What the hell! I need to leverage my diagnosis. It has to be good for something! So I spent some time googling sources. I didn’t find much, but I didn’t get that far because I was kind of pooped from treatment. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.
My friend Karen arrived from NYC on her way to Hawaii as well and stayed with her sister in the remote burbs. Hopefully, we will get a chance to catch up. In Florida, Kathy is patiently waiting for a window to open so she can visit.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 6 so far )Thursday, August 2, 2012: Maintaining Coolness
After treatment on Tuesday, I caffeined up for an afternoon of actual work. As usual, I was energized by evening, so Scott and I went for a walk for well over my minimum mile. I even got the urge to sprint a half block before pooping out.
Yesterday, my friend Maria picked me up and kept me company during treatment. It went so FAST! Our conversation truly made it feel as if I’d been there a fraction of the time.
Nurse A has taken care of me for several days in a row. She is very attentive and professional, but looks as if she’s just celebrated her sweet 16 birthday. In trading weekend plans, Nurse A said she was excited to have Lallapalooza tickets and asked if we knew what it was. Maria and I traded glances amused that we were perceived as “old people.” Not that we aren’t…or at least I’ll admit to it. We reassured Nurse A that we knew all about Lallapalooza and asked who was playing. We could see Nurse A run through the list of bands in her head searching for the old-school names we might recognize. Red Hot Chili Peppers and Black Sabbath came to mind. I did not mention that about 10 years ago I was on the board of an organization that invited Billy Corrigan, of Red Hot Chili Peppers, to read his poetry at the Art Institute and I was happy he’d gone back to music—although I did have the urge to establish our “coolness.”
Afterwards, Maria had a yen for breakfast ,so at Nurse A’s suggestion, we drove over to the Original Pancake House on Green Bay Road. I had the spinach crepes, which were great. After that, I was ready to crash, so I took a nap when I returned home. I needed to be recharged to get to my art class later that evening.
I was pleased to bring my finished Letter to Picasso painting and then identified one more little spot to tweak. I also started another “poem painting” based on the idea that being a parent is like being a potter. Stay tuned for the JPG. As usual, the class is as social as instructional and relaxing.
Meanwhile, Scott was a Veronica’s place installing a Magic Jack phone he found for her birthday. For dirt cheap, she can use her Internet service for unlimited local and nationwide long distance. She’s been using her iPhone, but she lives in a reception vortex, so too often Veronica sits on her stoop to make calls…not fun in the winter.
Today, I’m back in the merry-go-round room. This morning’s blood work came back good, which allowed us to order up the arsenic drip. I wonder if there’s a drug to maintain one’s cool factor?
Let’s see what else I can get done here in the next few hours.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )Monday, July 30, 2012 Birthday Cake & Arsenic
I had a great weekend! First of all, the weather was fabulous. It made it easy to get my errands done. On Sunday, we hosted Christy and Veronica for their July birthdays. We’ve made it an annual event and I was determined to pace myself so I didn’t get too tired.
Saturday morning, Scott and I started by hitting the grocery store for the menu items. We decided to grill chicken. We picked up some salads, cake and other goodies. Since I didn’t have treatment, I was feeling almost normal.
I spent the afternoon wrapping presents and making cards. It was nice to be able to put a little extra effort into it. I also finished the text in my “Letter to Picasso” painting (actual poem is at http://emilycalvo.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Poems-about-Art-_1_.pdf )
Night at the Movies
By Saturday evening, it was time to chill, so we went to On Demand for a movie. I missed the film Being Flynn when it was out and I’ve really wanted to see it. It’s based on a book titled, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City. I’ve met the author, Nick Flynn, at several AWP conferences. The last time, he claimed to remember me.
His book is a memoir about his relationship with his father who was an absent father, but showed up for a bed when Nick worked in a homeless shelter. It’s a beautifully written ugly story that portrays the complexities of life with poetic language. It brings up questions everyone faces at one time or another: How much should we give to a family member? How much should we feel responsible for the actions of others. I was curious to see how the story would avoid being majorly depressing once the text was adapted. I have my own “dad book” in the works, so I wanted to see how adaptation was handled. I was pleasantly surprised. The screenplay held the mood of the book and stuck to the story without being morose. Plus, De Niro brilliantly played the father. You should see it!
Party On
On Sunday, Scott and I got the patio in shape for the party. It wasn’t horribly hot outside, so that was promising. Christy and Tony, the grandkids, Veronica, my daughter’s dad, and Scott’s mother all arrived around three. We BBQ’d chicken and did the usual birthday cake, etc. When Anthony, my 9-year old grandson, saw Scott with his flip video in hand, he insisted on being the announcer. There were to be four parts to the party: Meet and greet; dinner, presents and good-byes. He would introduce each section. Being the announcer comes easily to Anthony. When we were on the patio we discussed his ability to court the camera.
“I just like to think of funny things to say,” he told me. “My teacher says I can make anything funny…and I think she’s right.”
“You’re good at it,” I said. “I can get up in front of people, but I’m not quick on the stage. I need to think of things first and then get in front of people.”
He responds, “Well you go and read poetry and I don’t know how you do that.”
“I can do that because I know what I’m going to say.”
He paused considering the difference. “My mom was reading something about how to be funny. I think that’s silly. You can’t get humor out of a book. It has to come from your heart!” He says this as he places his hand over his chest in earnest.” I laugh.
He is pleased to make me laugh. 
Show me another 9-year old like this???? Of course, his sister Alyssa 
also has a great sense of humor. Do they get it from their mom?
Everyone had a great time. No food was injured in the making of this party and I was still standing.
IV Arsenic: Week 3
Two down, three weeks to go. Today, I was back in treatment and our friend Pam B. who offered to come to the hospital with lunch. She arrived with a three-course meal and we enjoyed talking for the duration. When I got home, I slept almost the entire afternoon. I can see that having any energy is getting more difficult. Damn.
Scott had to take his care in for repairs because it made some uncomfortable noises and vibrations. I called a cancer buddy. In the past, I offered to connect with a cancer comrade through an organization that matches patients with others who have undergone similar experiences. Lorraine is a delightful woman in New York State. We spoke for over an hour and realized we have a lot in common. No doubt we will talk again.
By dinner time, I got a second wind and heated up some leftovers from the BBQ. The laundry was also piling up. Scott noticed that we hadn’t leveled the new washer, so we unhooked the tubes, moved it from the wall and tried our best to even up the sides. With that accomplished, we loaded the machine, turned it on and realized we’d forgotten to reconnect the water tubing when water flooded out of the back and flowed across our uneven floor toward the kitchen. Our sweet little machine adjustments turned into an hour of cleanup.
I went for a walk before going to bed. After all, I have a 9 a.m. treatment tomorrow.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )Saturday, June 16, 2012
I felt like lolling around this morning, so Scott whipped up an excellent breakfast. Going to the hospital everyday for these 9 am appointments is like holding a job—and I’ve been a freelancer for 13 years—so my weekends are precious again. I followed breakfast with a walk because I knew if I waited, I wouldn’t do it. I did a little over a mile. It was really hot out there…mid 90s! I also inspected my patio pots.
My plan was to plant myself in my studio and paint, which I did. I finished a painting a started in class and decided I hated it. It needed to be softer. I’ve been stuck on doing something purple, so I broke out the big new block of paper and made a second attempt. I think I succeeded. I need to look at it again tomorrow. Scott said the piece looked darker and heavier than my previous pieces. I didn’t think of it that way, but maybe I’m just putting the creepies, that I periodically entertain, on paper. Either way, it’s therapeutic.
After painting, Scott and I had “date night.” I’d heard about a play, “Sexy Baby,” a spoof on kiddie beauty pageants. It was performed mostly by men in drag, but there were a few women in it as well as a few men who were not in drag. It was hilarious from start to finish and poked fun at everything in society. Plus, the characters were well-developed, there was a lot of fun music and the costuming and facial expressions brought continuous raised eyebrows. Well done. Chicago has great small theater productions. Best of all, Scott got me a margarita. Salt and everything. I was told I could drink alcohol on non-arsenic days, so I savored it. It’s been awhile since I had one, so I forgot how good they taste. Yum.
It was too early and too nice a night to come home, so we drove downtown and attempted to see the skyline from the planetarium, but there was a music/dance festival ending at Soldier Field, so traffic was routed back to the Drive. Lightning fflared in the southern skies. We arrived home just before a long-awaited summer shower. I know it’s still spring, but with 90-degree temps, it’s a summer shower. Enjoy.
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In Emily's Head 