Tag Archives: breast cancer

the five year mark…

22 Wednesday Jun 2016

Posted by in Cancer, photography

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(This is the post I wrote last Friday before the ice storm. We had been home two days when the storm came and so I thought this post could wait for more current events!)

Many of you were not following when I started my blog nearly five years ago.(a very early post you might enjoy here) I started it while having radiation treatment in Darwin, 1000 miles from home. It was a soul searching, solitary, and challenging, but also very rewarding 7 weeks.

Alone in the light.

Alone in the light.

I have just returned from my five year consultation with the surgeon, and the tests that confirmed, all is well. The surgeon told me in October, five years from when I started the aromatase inhibitor medication I will be able to discontinue it. Further, she told me that the mammogram imaging has improved so much that I will be able to discontinue the difficult breast MRI test, unless the high resolution mammogram shows something unusual. (Mammogram remains an extraordinarily painful compression of one’s sensitive body parts, however!) Five years is a significant benchmark and I was greatly relieved, feeling very very fortunate.

The lady in the corner quietly crying into her tissues reminded me how far I had come.

For many years walking and enjoying nature has been a calming habit for me. It keeps me centred and feeling normal, even when things are abnormal. The recent week we spent in Adelaide began with a breast MRI the first day, and ended on the last day with the mammogram and surgeon consultation. In between were five days. I hesitate to say it was an uncertain time, because nothing in life is certain. But no doubt our awareness of uncertainty is sometimes heightened. One morning I told my husband I need to go find some light to photograph. The Adelaide Botanic Garden is not far from our hotel and I thought that would be the place. He wanted to join me, which was fine. He understands my frequent stops and contortionist positions to capture images I’m chasing. Here was my therapy for that day.

Banyan tree in morning light
lovely dead lily pads
homage to Georgia O’Keefe
Gingko with dew
Autumn Ginkgo

For all of society’s increasing interest in taking photos, there are still life moments that escape being photographed. The moment of certainty (however temporary) in the surgeon’s room, was not a Kodak moment. But this set of photos above, taken during that week, will be in my mind for a very long time.

This final photo is no prize winner, but it was a shared meal with our daughter and my husband, a good bottle of wine at our favourite Chinese restaurant with my husband’s grateful words;

‘Here’s to good boob health!’ Always a good toast!

'Here's to good boob health'

‘Here’s to good boob health’

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

05 Sunday Oct 2014

Posted by in Cancer

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radiation tatto on centre line

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radiation tattoo on side coordinate

These are my ‘tatts’. My ‘tit-tatts’, I guess you could call them. (I don’t wish to be crude, but I want you to remember the message of this post.) These are the tattoo dots that are etched permanently into the positions the radiographers used when I had radiotherapy treatments after surgery for breast cancer. No, the tattoos didn’t hurt. The radiation didn’t hurt either, at the time. But it made me tired, and I had a nasty heat rash all over the area where I was treated, and there were after effects. The treated breast tissue is changed by the radiation and remains larger. New bras, girlfriends. I needed physical therapy treatments as well as continued self treatment to loosen the muscles of the underarm area which painfully tightened.

I was lucky.

I had treatable cancer and it was caught early. And that is the reason for this post. A routine mammogram was the key factor. A talented radiographer saw in my very dense tissue a ‘spot’. To you and I it would look the same as all the other dense spots of tissue.

But it wasn’t.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Take care of yourself and urge your loved ones to do the same. Get routine mammograms and do self-testing. Life is precious. We are precious to someone; and we must be our own advocates.

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Dad, brothers, Grandmother, me, Grandfather

This photo was taken the same year my paternal Grandmother had a radical mastectomy. She lived another 30 years and did not die from cancer. I am the 3 year old little girl holding her hand. Believe me, my life would have been the poorer if she had not survived. I had breast cancer at the same age as her. I knew about her cancer because she and my own Mother, who is a nurse and cared for her, talked about it. But there was a lot I didn’t know about it, and have since learned.

As well as the cancer category of this blog, where I talk about my time in treatment, here are a couple of things that you, or someone you love, may find useful or interesting:

The Emperor of all Maladies – A Biography of Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee, Amazon paperback (This book tells the history of cancer and treatment and is very readable and interesting, except for a chapter or two that are a bit ‘scientific’. A word of caution; it is somewhat confronting in its honesty about past treatments and about prognosis of certain cancers. I read it the same year I was treated and had to put it down a time or two, but was very glad to have read it when I finished)

Courage Through A Lens – A breast cancer journey (I wrote about this photographic journey in a past post. It was a remarkable, if confronting, ebook, link on old post here.)

I donate to http://www.abcr.com.au/about/ because 100% of their proceeds go toward research.

I do not dwell on this event, any more than I dwell on other major events/lessons one has in life. However, it is my goal to shed light whenever I can. I learn things and share them.

Live, learn, share.

Repeat.

~Ardys

For those of you unaware, you can read my ‘about’ page; I started this blog while in treatment, to let my family and friends know about my journey since I was 1000 miles away from home for the surgery (Adelaide), and 1000 miles the other way from home for the treatment (Darwin)

the camera and the app

15 Wednesday Jan 2014

Posted by in Cancer, Creativity, Inspiration, photography

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When I was about 9 years old I received my first camera.  It was a little Kodak Hawkeye ‘flashfun’ click and shoot. I clicked and shot… the cat, the flower garden, my family, and friends, who, or whatever would sit still long enough.  But in those days, of course one had to be able to afford the processing and printing as well, and at the age of 9 my funds were limited.

I have never been without a camera since then– sometimes even two cameras at a time. I’m hopelessly dyslexic about retaining all the technical information regarding f-stops and shutter speed so I would not have made a good professional photographer.  I completed a photography class at University but the chemicals and precision required just didn’t capture my imagination, and I thought my photos would always remain snapshots, and mostly boring.

But in recent years, aside from assisting my very poor memory, my photos have become a source of creative interest.  Nothing has aided learning the skills of composition and content more than digital photography, the iPhone and Instagram.  I’ve learned that the best camera is the one you have with you, which is always my iPhone. Being able to take copious shots, without the expense of processing, then examine them immediately is a wonderful learning tool. And sharing them on Instagram has opened a whole new world. It’s as if I was born to take little square photos!

Me n the ladies (sculpture by Ron Mueck)

Me n the ladies (sculpture by Ron Mueck)

I have sense enough to reign in my enthusiasm and enjoy being in the moment when I need to… mostly. Those little square gems just intrigue the hell out of me.  Far from mere distraction, the photos require my attention in a way that seems to etch the events into my mind more indelibly. Did you know that your short term memory only stores things for about 20 minutes before it loses them?  In order for them to become accessible in the longer term the memories must be processed and linked to something more substantial.  I think this is why photos help my memory rather than serve as a distraction.

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Dust Storm in Alice

I first learned about Instagram while reading a Qantas magazine.  My husband and I were flying to Perth just after I had had the surgery for my breast cancer, less than two and a half years ago.  I read about a fellow who was having an exhibition of photos, all of which were produced through a little app called Instagram.  An entire exhibition? Interesting.IMG_0592 IMG_0609

I downloaded the app and for the remainder of the trip I was consumed with learning to use it.  Don had some business in Perth, and we had decided to make a holiday out of it, before I knew I had cancer. I was in between surgery and radiation, and he was very patient and indulged me, stopping the car for me to photograph trees and cows and flowers on our trip south through the Margaret River region (sounds like I was 9 years old again, doesn’t it?).  It transported me to a place where I did not think about cancer every minute of every day and I will always be so grateful for that little app when I was 58, and for the camera that started it all, when I was 9 years old.

Here are some of my early Instagram photos. You will have seen many of the more recent ones in my blog posts. Have a lovely day.

-Ardys

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Mont Serat, Spain

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Driving in France

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My friend’s lovely dishes

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Cows along the road, Margaret River

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My room during radiation treatment

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Cape Leeuwin, WA

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handmade tea cups, wedding gift

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Spring blossoms, Ohio

Boranup Karri Forest, Margaret River

Boranup Karri Forest, Margaret River

Kicking it with Kiki

28 Thursday Nov 2013

Posted by in Books, Cancer, Health, photography, Recommendations

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A few days ago I selected the ‘publish’ button on this post.  But you didn’t see it, did you?  That’s because, for some reason (operator error!) it didn’t publish.  And I’m glad.  A few hours after thinking it had published, I wished I had written it differently.  Sometimes the Universe and I are on the same wavelength and I get a second chance at things! Has that happened to you?  Well, let me try again…

Kiki was an Australian resident who migrated here from Netherlands a few years ago.  She was a 27 year old photographer, with a husband and two young children when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She chose to document her very difficult journey using her photography skills in an e-book titled ‘Courage Through A Lens – A breast cancer journey’.  This book is raw and beautiful, confronting, and heart wrenching, especially for those of us who have been on part of that journey. It explains and photographically documents the journey of breast cancer in a way I have never seen it done.  It is the book I wished I had two and a half years ago.  Kiki passed away, as I understand it, very recently… within weeks. But she has done something for women everywhere that will live on and be remembered.

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‘selfie’ taken two and a half years ago

During this time of the year when we sometimes have difficulty staying centred, here is a reminder of what is important.  If you have a daughter, sister, girlfriend or Mother who has survived breast cancer, be grateful. This book might help them share their experience. If you have a loved one who has breast cancer now and you would like to be better informed about what she is going through, I recommend this book.

As for cancer, I’m kicking it with Kiki… it’s butt, that is.  She was an awesomely ordinary woman who stepped up and did an extraordinary thing to help others. I just want to do my little bit to keep things kicking along.

Thanks Kiki, regrettably I won’t get to tell you this in person.

(This is an e-book, so it works on your iPad or other tablet device, or your computer.  It is downloaded as a PDF document.  Half the proceeds go to benefit breast cancer.)

Breast MRI

19 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by in Cancer, Food, Health, Life

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About this time last year I posted my experience with my first breast MRI (see ‘Happy Dancing‘ in Archives or click on the link). Whenever I learn something new I like to share it so here we go with this year’s experience.

I am not at all a fan of recreational drugs, but the well used drug in therapeutic circumstances is such a marvel. After my difficult experience with the panic attack last year the surgeon suggested I take a 5mg Valium tablet about an hour before the test this year. Of course the surgeon lives 1500km away from Alice Springs so it was my GP who had to write the prescription when the time came, and his advice was to take the Valium 2 hours prior to the test. Not being familiar with Valium, I wasn’t sure whose advice to follow but in the end I thought my GP might have a better knowledge of my history so I took his advice. The variables were a bit complex however as I had an empty stomach (on purpose), and a thirty minute walk to the hospital and then the appointed time varied by 30 minutes from what I’d thought it would be.

By the time they called me through to have the cannula inserted for the dye I realised it had been two and a half hours since the Valium and it was already wearing off. This started to make me more anxious and when I saw the technician I explained to her my situation. And then I cried. I’ve hardly cried through the entire treatment of the breast cancer even though at times it was quite confronting. Facing fear is one of the things that helps us grow. I know… but… are we having fun yet?

The technician was very calm and matter of fact, assuring me she could make ‘modifications’ to things that would make me more comfortable. Oh really? Could she disappear the tube and put me to sleep during the entire process? I didn’t think so. However, it turns out she could modify the framework on which I had to lay. She opened the area where my face rested so that I would feel I could breathe more easily. She placed a softer block of high density foam on which to rest my forehead. And the most important thing she did was tell me to breathe normally! Previously, the last words said to me as they shoved me into the tube was ‘no deep breaths’, which I had somehow misinterpreted as ‘take shallow breaths’ and which resulted in my panic that I could not get enough air.

The modifications made an appreciable difference. My only question is, why not just do it this way in the first place????? (The surgeon had no answer, she was equally mystified!)

vanilla slice

vanilla slice

The technician encouraged me to think about something I like doing… my next jewellery project perhaps? But all I could think about was the vanilla slice Don had found in town, and had told me about earlier! Go for it girl, I thought, think about that vanilla slice for all you’re worth! By the time the technician’s voice came through the headset to tell me she was about to inject the dye, that vanilla slice had saved the day. I was pretty sure I would be okay. When the scan finished and I felt them move me out of the tube and into the room, I stuck both thumbs up for the technician to see, and to celebrate my victory. But the final celebration was awaiting me… a thirty minute walk into town… the taste of victory, thy name is vanilla slice.

(The following day I had the be-jesus squeezed out of my breasts during the mammogram and saw the surgeon.  All clear for another year. Gratitude out the yin-yang)

PS. Take the Valium an HOUR before the test for maximum benefit!

Have the conversation.

15 Wednesday May 2013

Posted by in Cancer, Health, Life, Uncategorized

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Two years ago this week I had a routine mammogram that showed I needed a needle biopsy.  Less than a week later I had flown 1500km to have the biopsy as quickly as possible, and a few days later, back at home, May 31st, I was told I had breast cancer.  Last evening we saw in the news that Angelina Jolie has taken preventative measures after learning she has the BRCA 2 gene.

Many are calling her courageous and, yes, I do too, because all women who face this decision have not only the difficult decision itself but the pain and consequences inherent in such a decision.  But let’s be clear about what leads to this courageous decision and course of action. What is the conversation we need to have?  First, have the conversation with yourself about getting routine checkups.

The thing I have learned about cancer (read: ‘The Emperor of All Maladies’ by Siddhartha Mukherjee) is that almost every single case is unique.  Try to get your head around that.  Each human being is unique, and each cancer is as well.  The combinations of possibilities are endless.  If we don’t do our part to look after ourselves and to have checkups is it any wonder in which direction that behaviour will tip the scales?

Be pro-active.  In my own case, I live in a remote area of Outback Australia but I made the habit of getting a routine mammogram from the time I turned 50.  There was a lot of cancer in my Dad’s family.  His mother had breast cancer at about the same age as did I.  Dad had prostate cancer which is what is called a ‘soft tissue’ cancer and has some influence on the inherited tendencies.  At the age of 47 I had an upper endoscopy and was told I had what could potentially become esophageal cancer. After following the doctor’s advice a follow up endoscopy last year (12 years later) has shown the problem has been reversed.  I have had 13 moles removed, 12 of which were the type that turn into melanoma.  At the age of 52 I had my ovaries removed when I had a hysterectomy.  At age 58 I had the breast cancer followed by 7 weeks/five times a week, radiation treatment.  And all this while one of my closest friends, about whom I’ve written on my blog (read: Remembering Ivy) was battling breast cancer and eventually died from it, having had a preventative double mastectomy!!!  Let me repeat that, she had a preventative double mastectomy.

Here is the rest of the conversation you must have with yourself and with others, if you can.  Discuss options.  Be as open as you can about your experience, if you have had cancer or loved someone who has.  There are no guarantees in life.  I have lived healthy, am not overweight, have exercised, tried to reduce stress, breathed clean air, don’t smoke, wear sunscreen etc. etc.  I got cancer.  Ivy was the same.  She died of secondary breast cancer at the age of 58.  There are no guarantees.  Have the conversations, have the tests and have the treatment.  Give yourself a better chance.

Be pro-active.

Be pro-active.

Happy Dancing

21 Saturday Jul 2012

Posted by in Health, Life

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The original intent for this blog was to enlighten anyone who was interested about not just my journey with cancer, but to enable others who have not had this disease, to relate better to those who have had it by describing some of the specifics one experiences.  This week was a milestone for which I am very grateful.  Another year free of cancer.  For the one year (and all subsequent) checkups I fly to Adelaide (1500 kilometres away) to see the surgeon who treated me last year.  Without alarming me (much!) she told me the unhappy news that the aromatase inhibitor (hormone treatment) part of the ‘after’ treatment had not had the desired effect on reducing the density of the tissue in my breasts.  Normally this drug reduces the oestrogen in the system, which, in turn, reduces the density of the breast tissue, allowing easier diagnosis of future lumps with a mammogram.  In my case the tissue has increased in density, making it even more difficult for the doctors to spot any potential problems.  This, and several other factors, have put me in a ‘high risk’ category for future cancer.  When I first learned this it really spun me around.  For a week or so I felt rather stunned.

The surgeon offered to order an MRI for a more accurate assessment of the situation.  At first I decided to defer it until next year, as she said that would be fine.  But very soon I realised I would be living in the shadow of uncertainty for a whole year if I waited until next June to have the MRI at the same time I had the next mammogram.  As we already had a vacation trip planned for Adelaide a month later, I decided to go ahead and have the MRI and see what happened.  The problem with MRI’s is they are notorious for ‘false positives’… but of course you don’t know they are false until you have had the needle biopsies and followed up.  Needle biopsies may sound like small potatoes, but my own experience last year was worse than the surgery to actually remove the cancer!  This is not true for everyone, but for me it was no small decision as I could be opening a Pandora’s Box of ongoing unpleasantness!  Nevertheless, knowing seemed preferable to living with the uncertainty.  That’s always been my preference in life.  Give me the facts, ma’am, just the facts…

A breast MRI is not like a normal MRI, and it may be like some others, I don’t know, I have not had them.  All I can tell you is that I had a bone scan with dye injected into me last year and I coped fine with that one.  I was lying on my back and breathed quietly while the ‘noisy tube’ did its job.  But this time was different.  First of all, a person always feels more vulnerable with almost no clothes on, and a paper dressing gown open at the front!  The medical technician inserts a cannula into a vein in your arm because they don’t inject the dye before the test, but about two thirds of the way through, and the timing has to be fairly precise.  I was led into the imaging room where I was asked to climb onto a ‘frame’ that lay on top of the normal MRI ‘bed’.  I was told to position myself so that my breast bone and stomach bore the bulk of my body weight while my breasts hung loosely in the holes of the frame.  I rested my head into an oval padded cut out (as for a massage table) and my arms stretched above my head onto a pillow.  And then they asked “Are you comfortable?”  Compared to what???  The lack of dignity one feels as one’s breasts are dangling in the space of the frame, while the rest of you is unattractively draped over the rest of the frame is hard to describe!  But the most challenging part of the process was that I was instructed NOT to take a deep breath, but to breathe as quietly as possible for the entire 20 or so minutes!! And of course, knowing that you are inside a tube and cannot pull yourself out if you feel the need, doesn’t help.  And last, but not least, the test itself is very noisy, sounding much like a jackhammer.  They gave me a headset that muffled the noise somewhat, but this kind of makes you feel even more ‘detached’ from potential safety.  Still, the noise was so loud I cannot imagine having nothing to muffle the sound.  I could have opted for a headset playing very loud music but that didn’t sound very attractive either!

I managed to keep it together for the first 12 minutes. (But, of course I had no idea how long it had been because you have no sense of time during the test)  And then a panic quickly took over me like nothing I have ever before experienced.  I could only say that I was having a panic attack.  I squeezed the ‘panic button’ they had shoved into my left hand before I went into the tube, and a voice that sounded very feint asked if I was having a problem?  That question sounds laughable now, but at the time I answered quite seriously and with tears in my eyes, “I can’t breathe.  I think I’m having a panic attack”.  The voice said “okay, stay still and we’ll get you out.” Stay still?  Could I actually do that?  True to his word they quickly extracted me from the tube and I immediately felt the other technician beside me, her cool hands on my back and my arm.  Cool hands.  Confirmation of the outside world.

She calmly said to try and stay still and asked me how I was feeling.  I told her I felt I couldn’t breathe, that I needed a deep breath but knew I wasn’t supposed to.  She encouraged me to breathe deeply several times but to try and stay still, in the same position.  As I did I realised I was quickly calming down.  I was right, I thought, I needed to breathe deeply!! (And of course, this is our own inbuilt coping mechanism when we are stressed, to breath deeply to calm ourselves)  She told me I was 12 minutes into the test and there were about 8 minutes left and that would be the most crucial in terms of stillness.  The dye would be injected at this stage and they would not be able to stop the test again without losing the results.  No pressure.  After half a dozen or so breaths I felt much more calm, amazingly more calm… and while I was not keen to go back into that tube, I also didn’t want my effort thus far to be wasted so I said I thought I could finish.  There was a chance, they told me, that when the dye was injected it would cause slight nausea or even a metallic taste in my mouth, or a cold feeling when it went into my arm.  Thank God none of those things happened.

At the end of the test when I had to get off the ‘bed’ my whole body was trembling.  But I had done it.  It was over and I could get dressed and be a normal person again.  I walked out into the cool winter air and looked up at the blue, cloud studded sky and wanted to do my happy dance.  That’s probably not a pretty sight so I did it inside my heart, and felt the joy one feels on the last day of school!

I have gone over things in my mind many times since the MRI, to try and think if there is anything I could do differently, so that the outcome could be less distressing for me.  The biggest difficulty I felt was the weight of my body on my breast bone and stomach, which meant that I could not even take a shallow breath easily.  There is nothing I can do to change that, unfortunately.  I did have a bad dream and several breathless awakenings at night the following few days.  I hasten to add that not everyone finds this process as distressing as did I.  I know of one person who says she fell asleep while having an MRI.  I can only imagine she was very sleep deprived beforehand!  However, I do wonder now that I am very clear about the process, if that may not reduce future anxiety.  One can hope!

I have an entire year to think about (dread?) next year’s MRI but the surgeon tells me she can prescribe something to calm me beforehand if I choose to go ahead.  She assures me there are many women who struggle with this test, which is why she doesn’t routinely suggest it for her patients, unless there is strong reason.  But hey, the test results were clear and once again I’m doing my happy dance inside!

(A very interesting book about the history of cancer and its treatment is “The Emperor of All Maladies” by Siddhartha Mukherjee and is available on Amazon.  I highly recommend this to those who have had cancer or who want to know more about it.  It is very readable and helps understand the complexities of this disease and the treatments) 

Daffodil Day

26 Friday Aug 2011

Posted by in Cancer, Darwin, Health

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I have just learned how precise the dose of radiation is that I receive. It is so precise that it is not timed in seconds. There is an exact dosage predetermined in the ‘machine’ and it is released by electricity. Because electricity supply varies slightly, rather than the dosage being measured in seconds, it is released as an amount measured in some kind of special measurement as it applies only to radiation. (So, for example, if you were to get 3 grams of medicine via a syringe, it may take 10 seconds for one person to push it through or 15 seconds for another person to push it through.) That is why the length of the ‘exposure’ varies ever so slightly from one day to the next. It is the amount of radiation you get that is important, not the time it takes to give it to you.

I have, today, realised the exact amount of sleep I needed for the week had not been reached. In the interest of precision, and good health, I have just had a 43 minute nap as a result. Is there anything nicer than a very good nap?

(today is exactly three months since I had the biopsy… a lifetime ago)

my daffodil

Counting blessings

21 Sunday Aug 2011

Posted by in Inspiration, Life, People

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If you have been following my journey of treatment, you will know that I have tried to tell things as they are.  The thing I have noticed about life is that I can never quite anticipate what will unfold, with regard to emotions, but especially the last few months.  It hasn’t happened often, but when I least expect it, the tears will come.  In recent months the times I have cried have not been when receiving ‘bad’ news, but have been when others have shown me kindness.  It’s not as if no one has shown me kindness in my life, but for some reason, that always catches me ‘off guard’.  I have spoken with others recently who feel the same.  Isn’t that intriguing that we should be so touched by a simple act of kindness?

Allison and I have had a wonderful few days together that will probably stay in our hearts and minds for many years to come.  We’ve shared feelings and thoughts and food and retail therapy and laughter.  What could be better?

Today when it was time for her to leave I unexpectedly had a churning in my gut, tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat.  It really completely surprised me because it wasn’t as if I’m not going to see her again in just over a week.  Also, Don is coming this evening so I won’t be alone for long.  And anyway, I am a person that doesn’t mind my own company so being alone doesn’t usually perturb me.  I hugged and kissed her good bye, and blew her a kiss as she pulled out of the car park before walking back to my room.  Just ‘be with it’ I told myself.  Feel that sadness and see where it comes from.  Is it about being alone or is it about losing her beautiful energy from my presence for a while, or the kindness of her coming to see me and not wanting to rush away?  All, I decide.

I put on a load of washing and made myself some lunch and just as I was washing dishes and putting them away, there came a text message.  She had arrived at the airport and turned in the rental car without any problems.  A mother is relieved, and sad.  She is a step further away now.  I sat down with my computer to check for email and there, sneakily, tucked inside the computer was a card.  Oh, no, I thought, I can just tell there will more tears now.  It was the loveliest of handwritten words from a lovely young woman I, most gratefully, accept is my daughter.  Her words of appreciation I shall keep just for myself, except to tell you, she counts me twice among her blessings.  That goes double for me.

Allison

Make every second count.

20 Saturday Aug 2011

Posted by in Food, Inspiration, Life

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We made another early visit to the Parap Markets to kick off the weekend. We had awesome Thai food and just as we were leaving we saw Ivy and daughter Dani.  Later we went to have coffee at the Four Birds Café with friends again and I saw someone I’ve met since I’ve been here this time, and not from my former life here, or in Alice.  I told Allison it is weird, when I lived here 20 years ago I could go for days and not see anyone I knew when I was in town.  I’m here for 6 weeks and seem to run into people all over the place, not to mention the friends we intended to see.  How does that happen?

Later Allison and I decided to do the very indulgent thing of seeing a movie in the middle of the day!  Very enjoyable.  There were lots of humorous lines but the one that really got me was the serious line from a father who has Alzheimers saying to his son, “Life is too *damn short, so make every second count!”  It caught me by surprise and nearly brought a tear to my eyes, so I know it hit a chord.  It’s not as if I don’t already know that, but an outstanding reminder every now and then doesn’t hurt a thing.  I’m just sayin…

Two ‘birds’ at the Four Birds Cafe