in translation

The cancer centre has implemented something new. When patients check in for treatment, we're asked to fill out a questionnaire related to our well-being (it has some acronym but I can't remember it). We're given the option of filling it in on a central computer but I'm really squeamish about germy public terminals. I always ask to fill the thing in manually (furthering my feeling that I am more of a Luddite than some of my seniors).

Filling out the form involves reading statements such as "I am in pain" and then circling a number between 1 (no pain) and 7 (excruciating pain - or something like that). Most of my numbers were very low except for the ones about my emotional well being and sleep habits. My answers resulted in the following conversation with the well-meaning nurse who checked me in for treatment:

Nurse: 

"You're depressed. Why?"

Me: 

"I'm just a little blue. Five years of doing this is a long time." (Translation: "I'm pissed off and fed up and I have survivors' guilt.") 

"I'm seeing someone at the psychosocial oncology centre." (Translation: "I don't want to talk about it with you, in front of the all the strangers in the room"). 

"The crisis is over and now it's all hitting me." (Translation: "I think I have PTSD. Did I mention that I'm pissed off and fed up?")

Next time, I'm stuffing the damn form into the bottom of my purse.

beautiful eyes

That's what struck me when I met Sarah in person: she had the most beautiful deep brown eyes I had ever seen, with a lovely smile to match.

It was February 2010 and we were both in attendance at the Annual Conference for Young Women Affected by Breast Cancer. We had met online through our online community, Mothers With Cancer.

A short time after we met, Sarah found out that her breast cancer had become metastatic and she began treatment anew. A few weeks ago, she learned that the cancer had spread to her brain and she started radiation treatment. A couple of days ago, she was admitted to hospital with breathing issues. Last night, she passed away.

I won't claim to have known beautiful Sarah better than I did. But I did consider her my friend. And I will miss her.

Here are some things I knew about this remarkable woman:

She loved her three daughters very much and she was incredibly proud of them.

She was happily married.

She was a talented photographer.

She loved animals, especially dogs and horses.

She had an appreciation for good coffee.

She left this world way too soon.

Sarah, you will truly be missed. My heart goes out to your family and to all who loved you.

You can read more about Sarah at her blog, Spruce Hill. Tributes have also been posted by Jenny (cross-posted to Mothers With Cancer), Susan, Nicole, Ree and Mary Beth.

Note: Blogger was down for about 20 hours and when it came back up, this post was gone (as were the comments from my previous post). If you are seeing this twice in a row on the blog, it will be because Blogger has returned it to me.

not really the end

Did you know that the world is going to end on May 21st, 2011? I saw a guy on a street corner today with a sign that said just that. And then I saw a big-ass caravan with the same message.

Contemplation of our impending collective doom helps to put yesterday's election into perspective. It doesn't matter if the Conservatives were gifted with a whopping majority if none of us is going to live long enough to deal with the consequences. There must be more of these end of the world types than I previously suspected. That would help me understand how it is that so many of us thought endorsing the Conservatives would be a good idea.

Or something. You'll have to forgive me, it's been a hell of a day. I stayed up way too late watching the election results and then stumbled around like a zombie all day. I'm delirious.

I even went across town to an appointment, only to discover that it's on Thursday.

It was a very odd feeling last night to watch the NDP take over 100 seats (the previous high having been 43) and not feel elated. Proud, yes but not elated. I just kept watching the Conservative and NDP numbers rise at the same time and feeling like my head was going to explode.

Those of us who oppose pettiness, meanness and bigotry and who support human rights and democracy (not to put too fine a point on things) have four years to get our act together. 

And I think we need to really start screeching about proportional representation.

Meanwhile, I really am thrilled that my party is going to be the Official Opposition. There is hope for the good guys (thanks, good guys, for working so hard to get yourselves and like-minded folk elected). I'm thankful to all the volunteers, staff and veteran politicians and candidates who worked so hard to make this happen.

And, even if I am slightly hysterical, I'm choosing to repeat the words of one of the surprised, young, brand new MPs from Quebec, "It's going to be all right."

bittersweet moment

Yesterday afternoon, my baby fell asleep on my chest.

He's almost 8 now and it had been years since this happened. He had two late nights followed by two early mornings, and he'd been tired and cranky. I suggested we curl up in bed for some quiet time. He had a new book to crack open and he was keen.

But after awhile he grew restless. We talked about putting on a movie. I told him I felt tired and lazy. He said he did, too. After a few moments of lying quietly, his breath began to slow.

Suddenly, he sat up, “Mama, could you stop feeling so lazy. I thought we were going to watch a movie!”

“We could do that,” I answered. “But I thought we were going to have a little snooze first.”

To my surprise, he said, “OK. I'll have a little snooze.” He put his head on my chest, and within seconds was sleeping soundly.

We lay there like that for more than an hour (at one point he woke up, said “Where'd my book go?” I said, “You've been sleeping.” He said “Oh!” and went back to sleep), and I was blissed out. I was happy to have my book within reach but I spent a long time just looking at him, listening to him breathe and loving the feel of his weight on my chest.

As I said, this was the first time this had happened in years. And it was quite possibly the last.

All too soon, he woke and we went on with our afternoon. If I close my eyes and listen to my own slow breaths, I can still feel his weight on my chest.

early memories

A few childhood memories remain incredibly vivid. Some have been worn into grooves in my brain, they have been retold so often. With those, I am unsure where my recollections end and those of others begin. Others, I am quite certain, are mine alone.

Here are twenty memories, off the top of my head. Some I have likely shared here before but of some others, I have never spoken, let alone written:

1. Sliding down the driveway at my friend's house, until my pants were worn out. I was wearing a jump suit with giraffes on it and I was in big trouble.

2. Being in love with an airline pilot. He was my aunt's boyfriend and he brought me presents from all over the world. He also called me Miss Muffet.

3. My father telling me that my baby sister had been born.

Those first three memories were from when we lived in Montreal. We moved away just after I turned four. All the rest are from Hawkesbury, Ontario and take place before my 11th birthday.

4. Going to the Dairy Queen with my aunt to get a Buster Bar and dropping it on the way home.

5. Getting caught peeing in my neighbour's rose bushes.

6. Ringing doorbells with my friends and running away.

7. Knocking on my neighbours' doors and asking them for their autographs.

8. Having the belt on my blue coat ripped off by a boy.

9. Being pushed into a bush by some bullies on my way home from school.

10. Trying to ignore a class-mate who was standing at my desk chanting "Tête carrée!" (It means square head and was the standard put down that francophones used against anglos. I had an English last name, and spoke English at home, so I was fair game).

11. The boy I liked in Grade Five telling me that all the boys, including him, had crushes on my best friend.

12. Making up sins in confession because I was too embarassed to tell anything real to the priest. "I talked back to my mother" was a frequent sin.

13. Winning a medal for "best behaved girl" on the same day as my crush won "best behaved boy."

14. My friend Philippe telling me how babies were made - through kissing. I was fascinated and horrified.

15. Being on the winning team during Carnaval at Ecole Marguerite Bourgeois.

16. The way the principal of that school smelled like pipe tobacco and how much I loved him.

17. Being flashed, as I cut through the church yard on my way to school.

18. Seeing a dog that had been hit by a car on the street in front of my house and how it felt like hours until the city came to take it away.

19. Getting a red bike with a yellow banana seat for my 7th birthday.

20. Bringing my new cat across the street to meet my neighbour and telling her "If you don't like my cat, then I can't come to visit you anymore."

Your turn. Can you share some random childhood memories?

welcome to my life

Earlier this week, my friend K. sent me an article from the New York Times that was the best piece of journalistic writing on metastatic breast cancer I've ever read. And I've read a lot on this subject.

I cried when I read it (but as I told K., in a good way) because it resonated so deeply with me, juxtaposing the facts and the experiences of women living with cancer that can never be considered cured. I started to highlight the best bits to share with you here but ended up cutting and pasting more than two thirds of the article.

I've decided that it's best not violate copyright or my own ethics and just post the link and ask you to please go read this article:

A Pink Ribbon Race, Years Long.

happy new year!

In 2010, I:

Made soup.

Started running again and kept at it (in fact, I did the Resolution Run 5K last night before breaking into the wine and fondue).

Started editing my novel. It doesn't really have an ending yet but I don't totally hate what I've written, so that's a start.

Found a writing buddy.

Knit a lot of dish cloths.

Played lots of Scrabble/Lexulous

Had my heartbroken when my dog died.

Went to Florida in the in the summer to get away from a heat wave.

Spent some quality time with girlfriends.

Organized a team for the Run for the Cure, called No Pink for Profit. By run day, we were more than 40 women and we raised more than $20,000.

Fell in love with Twitter.

Finally got a smart phone.

Learned that grief is not a linear process.

Spent a lot of time thinking about community, friends and family. I am very, very lucky.

For 2011, I wish us all love, peace, good health and many wonderful adventures.

a light has gone out

I just learned the very sad news that Christine Lynds passed away last Friday.

Chris was a strong, smart woman, who inspired and gave hope to so many people who's lived had been affected by cancer. We shared an oncologist and I appreciated her outlook towards living with advanced breast cancer.

I was also more than a little in awe of her. She was active and fit and a true community activist. The first time I met Christine in person, she had brought a posse of women who'd lived through breast cancer to my book launch. The second time I met her, she came to collect a prosthetic breast that I no longer wore so that it could find a new home with a friend of hers. We sat and drank coffee on my couch and talked about our boys and our dogs.

I know that she loved to organize people and projects and that she had many loyal friends to whom she was very committed. And I know that there are legions of people by whom she will be sorely missed.

Christine's blog was called "The Edge of Light." The world is a little darker without her in it.

Jasper "Friendly Bear" Kingston-Wayne (aka J-Dog): August 2000-June 18, 2010

ok

I want to let you all know (those of you who have been asking, wondering or worrying) that the reason I've not blogged since Friday is that I've been incredibly busy and that I haven't fallen completely apart.

I'm still feeling incredibly sad but there have also been some unbelievably beautiful moments in the last few days and those have kept me going.

I'll try and find some time to blog tomorrow afternoon but I wanted to take a moment tonight to say thanks to each one of you who have offered your love, support and understanding.

We're keeping J-Dog as comfortable as we can for as long as we can and I am spoiling him rotten (lots of treats, feeding him from the table, wet food and lots of cuddles).

Goodnight blogosphere. Thank you for reminding me why I love you so much.

10 in june part two: writing through heartbreak

June is a very busy month. The end of the academic year means that there are meetings, plays and endless school-related events (most are fun but they do keep me busy). Also, I've been very distracted because J-Dog (known to us as Jasper Friendly Bear) is very sick.

We are waiting on the biopsy results of tissue taken from several large tumours in his mouth. Honestly, it doesn't look good. Even if the tumours are benign, which is highly unlikely, the surgery to remove the growths would be dangerous and painful (not the mention the fact that having half his upper jaw removed would leave him with a dubious quality of life). Leaving them where they are is out of the question because they are making him very uncomfortable and affecting both his breathing and his ability to swallow.

We love this dog a lot. He's a very sweet old soul, who was born with tremendous dignity, intelligence and loyalty. I can't bear the thought of losing him but I can't stop thinking about it.

And you can imagine that this family would find all of this especially traumatic. As a wise and dear friend said to me, "You have to make sure the kids understand that he's not you." And even as we all understand that, this is all rubbing salt into some wounds that may never fully heal.

This was meant to be a post about writing, though - something I am reminded means more to me than an obligation or an item on a 'to do' list - so let me get back to that now.

Here are my goals for the month (taking up the numbering from where I left off in my last post):

5. Write for ninety minutes, four times a week (or 300 minutes per week). Given how busy I knew I'd be, I thought I'd set a more realistic goal (I'm already behind but not iredeemably so).

6. Write the speech for the Weekend to End Women's Cancers fundraiser (I don't have much of a choice about this one because I'm delivering it on Monday. I've got some detailed notes but a fair bit more work to do. Did I mention that I'm delivering it - at least in part - in French?).

7. Write a first draft of a short story (I've had this idea about Elvis and my home town for a while now).

I'm also going to continue to re-read and edit my draft novel but I'm not going to write that one down as a goal, since it's an ongoing process and I'm on track, thanks to my writing buddy and our regular exchanges and phone meetings.

It felt good to write all of that - about the fear and the grief but also about the goals I have set for myself. Writing gives me hope and a sense of purpose. When I do it well, it gives me confidence.

It's also very therapeutic.

Update: The vet called this evening. It's cancer. We have some choices to make but none will be easy. 

well, hello there

Yikes!

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I seem to have lost my blogging mojo. I remember a while back when Average Jane wrote that her blogging had been derailed (my word, not hers) by Twitter and Facebook. I get that now.

Whenever I have a quick observation or a link to share, I can gratify myself instantly with Twitter (I'm lauriek, by the way). And while each tweet does go to Facebook and the sidebar of Not Just About Cancer (on the right - see it there?), it hasn't done much for my blogging.

I don't want to give up the blog though, so I'll try and re-commit to posting regularly (how's that for hedging my bets?).

On the cancer front, there is a little news. I loved having a break in April. That month also brought another clean CT scan. My oncologist continues to be happy with how things are going (or not going, really).

We talked a bit more with about the weirdness of being in ongoing treatment (with side effects that are cumulative, both physically and emotionally). He talked frankly (one of the things that I love about him) about how, in my case, he really has no idea what to do.

We don't know what would happen if I were to take a longer break from treatment or stop it altogether.

"You're a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma," he said, quoting Churchill.

He said that, theoretically, we could start our own clinical trial, where half the women stop treatment for three months and half continue as I've been doing.

"But then what do you say to the women in the first group, if the cancer comes back? 'Oops?' 'Im sorry?' " (I'm convinced that the man lies awake at night wondering about these things. His compassion is another thing I love about him).

He has a way of putting things into perspective for me.

I had planned on asking for another break in six months but he surprised me by suggesting I take a break in August (hooray!)

He also said that, some time in the future, he's not sure exactly when, he's going to feel ready for me to take a longer break. Meanwhile, I'll have fewer appointments with him and, unless I'm worried about something, I can call them in (another hooray!).

I am very pleased about all of this but I admit to also feeling a little blue. I'm still dealing with some of the "grey area" fallout. It's really hard to articulate (and I feel guilty for even complaining. Guilt would be a good subject for a whole other post).

Life is a funny thing. And it's really hard to plan even five years ahead, because you never know what's going to happen. I'm trying right now to return my focus to living in the moment, accepting what is and reminding myself to notice the good things.

perspective in grey

On June 30th it will be three years since my first clean scan, after the cancer had spread to my liver.

For almost three years, I have had no evidence of disease (been NED, in cancer lingo).

And yet I remain in treatment.

I am asked frequently why I continue to receive chemotherapy and Herceptin, if there is no sign of cancer in my body. And the truth is that I often ask myself the same question. Certainly, I don't feel like I have cancer. And I do feel that the cumulative effects - both physical and emotional of ongoing treatment are wearing me down.

I am stuck in cancer's grey area.

My oncologist said to me last summer, "For all we know, you could be cured."

We just don't know enough.

Another oncologist I spoke to, hinted that some would take me out of treatment at this point. A third suggested that some doctors might take me off the chemotherapy and leave me on the Herceptin.

But they all agree that we just don't know enough to make any decision based on certainty. There are just too few women in my situation, younger women who have been diagnosed with metastatic breast and responded so well to treatment, to know what to do with us in the long term.

There are more of us every year, though.

In ten years' time, there will almost certainly be more answers.

And when I get too frustrated, I remind myself that if I had been diagnosed ten years earlier, I would almost certainly be dead.

So, for now, I'll take the grey.

soup and the missing muse

I made three soups in January.

Red lentil and carrot from Cooking with Foods That Fight Cancer

Broccoli cheddar from Looneyspoons: Low-fat food made fun!

Jambalaya from Weight Watchers (heavily modified: I substituted white fish for shrimp, used more liquid and had sausage on the side, so folks could choose their level of spiciness. And I didn't use chicken. And I used different spices. This for me, was a wildly adventurous departure).

If I don't run out of time today, I plan on making a pre-chemo Sweet potato and roasted garlic soup from the The Eat-Clean Diet Cookbook: Great-Tasting Recipes That Keep You Lean!
A friend gave this one to me. I recall it being time consuming but delicious..

I have had a post on the tip of my fingers about my current highly ambivalent feelings about my life, identity and treatment but I can't seem to bring myself to write it.

In fact, I can't seem to bring myself to write much these days.

Maybe, later this week, as I recover from chemo.

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day. And the four year anniversary of my mastectomy.

in other news

I was felled by a yucky stomach bug this week and really didn't feel much like blogging. It's the price I pay for a weakened immune system. My older son is home sick today, too. Not sure what his excuse is.

Also, my spouse is in Florida. As far as I know, he's not sick.

To compensate for my bitterness at having been struck down during a week of single parenting (I know, some of you have to deal with this kind of thing all the time), I thought I would show off a little.

Here is my latest clapotis. I made it for my mom.



She thinks she's not very photogenic but I think she's lovely.

I made this thing on tiny (2.75mm, if you care about these things) needles and a laceweight (read very fine) yarn. It nearly killed me.

I was working on it during chemo one day and one of the pharmacists, herself a knitter, shook her head and exclaimed, "You must really love your mother!"

I do.

And while I wouldn't necessarily recommend doing this as a laceweight (not just because it takes forever but because fixing errors is a painstaking process) but I am very pleased with the end results. The yarn is an alpaca and silk blend from Knit Picks and the scarf is soft, airy and has a lovely drape.

I think I am addicted to the clapotis. Although I'll do it in a thicker yarn and on bigger needles (the original was done in my much thicker yarn). Doing this on sock yarn will feel like a breeze.

And did you note the state of my walls?

I have been stripping wallpaper. It's part of a project that a friend is helping with (I know that should be "with which a friend is helping" but that felt awkward. Just want you sticklers to know that I am aware that I'm taking liberties). She offered to "paint a room" in my house in exchange for a bunch of kids' stuff we'd outgrown.

I definitely got the better end of that deal. We got a bunch of stuff out of our house and she has already devoted two afternoons to scraping the wallpaper in my hallway - on two floors and up the stairs.

I have to admit that I have never undertaken this kind of project before and I'm actually enjoying it. On our second afternoon we used "Concentrated Wallpaper Remover" from the hardware store and the hard-to-scrape stuff just melted off. Very cool. I hope it's not too terribly toxic. There didn't seem to be any fumes. It kind of smelled like dish soap.

There's another hour of stripping to do and then I gather everything has to be washed, then primed then painted. And then it will all look so good that the rest of the house will seem really dingy in contrast.

Finally, I feel like I can't conclude this post without mentioning the horrific situation in Haiti. Please give what you can, to a reputable organization.

When the Yarn Harlot sent out the "knit signal" last week, I was prompted to direct my money to Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders). They are already set up to help and do excellent work aroun the world.

Click here to donate in Canada, the United States or everywhere else in the world (find your country in the menu on the left). The Harlot mentioned in her post that it is most helpful if you direct your donation to "Emergency Relief" or "Greatest Needs" instead of to a specific project.

melancholy meme

These are questions from the Proust quiz in a recent issue of Vanity Fair magazine. I stole the idea from a friend (she did it on Facebook, so I won't identify her here) and I've been thinking of it ever since.

It was interesting to do. My answers reflect the fact that I have been in a somewhat melancholy mood of late. I tried to answer without censoring myself.

Feel free to answer the questions in the comments or to link to your on blog if you do it there.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Being somewhere beautiful, being with someone I love. Happiness can come out of nowhere. I am better trained to notice it now.

What is your greatest fear?
That I will die and my kids will forget me.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Lack of discipline and the fear that causes it.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Intolerance of difference.

On what occasion do you lie?
Sometimes to protect others' feelings. Occasionally to protect myself.

What is your greatest extravagance?
It used to be shoes. I do like nice glasses but that's only every couple of years. I'd have to say that now, it's eating out and yarn.

What is your current state of mind?
A little fragile, anxious and blue. Figuring out how to get past it.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Intelligence. The ability to laugh at himself. And if he's in love with me, that's pretty attractive, too. OK, so that's three. I did say that I lack discipline.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Intelligence, strength and a sense of humour.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Lately, it's "Oh, for pity's sake!" Trying to excise the potty mouth.

When and where were you happiest?
No particular moment in time. In PEI with T., in London with S., at the family cottage, in the arboretum with the dogs...

Who are your favorite writers?
Depends on my mood. John Steinbeck, Jane Austen, Joseph Boyden, Sarah Waters...and lots of mystery novelists too.

Which talent would you most like to have?
I wish I could sing.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
I'd make us all appreciate what we have.

If you died and came back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A well-loved dog with a stay at home alpha human and a family that loves me, walks me and feeds me well. In other words, I would come back as one of my dogs.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
Where to begin? Trying to be healthier in my attitude about this. But my weight (exacerbated by lymphedema) is getting me down lately. And it would be nice to have my breast back.

Where would you like to live?
Somewhere where there is no winter.

What is your most treasured possession?
If you agree with me that the dogs are family members and not possessions, then I guess that would be my raven ring.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Being 38 years old and learning that your liver is riddled with tumours and you don't have long to live. Needing morphine to control the pain for months. Having your heart ache on behalf of those who love you, especially your kids.
And life really is pretty good when you climb out of those depths.

What do you most value in your friends?
Loyalty, love and and humour.

What are your favorite names?
Sacha
Daniel
Katya

What is it that you most dislike?
People who think they have already learned all there is to know. And cancer. I don't like cancer either.

What is your greatest regret?
Not maintaining friendships with some people who were very important to me.

How would you like to die?
Painlessly and after having lived a long life.

What is your motto?
Be good.

my husband's chest

You don't need to tell me how lucky I am.

I have a roof over my head, great medical care and I'm surrounded by people who love me.

And don't think I forget how very lucky I am to be alive at all. Why did I get to go into remission? Why me? I am indeed very fortunate.

But there are times when I do feel sad that I will never put this cancer behind me. I feel the toll ongoing treatment takes on my body and my emotional well being.

So last night I stood in my kitchen, with my head on my husband's chest (we say we were built for each other. My head lands flat on his chest and tucks under his chin). He put his arms around me and we just stood there, breathing together.

He didn't need to say anything. He understood my frustration. Only a few hours before I was finallly feeling sharp and healthy and energized. And then, after chemo, I stood in his arms, feeling sick and more than a little shaky.

He didn't remind me how lucky I am.

But I know it.

all good things

Today is a pretty emotional day for my little family.

Tomorrow, my youngest, will start Grade One at a new school. While that's a pretty big deal in and of itself (at least it's the same school his big brother attends), this also marks his last day at the day care housed in his old school.

My family has been involved (except for a few years between kids and when D. was in home care), with the Glebe Parents' Day Care since 1999, when S. was a toddler. It's a great day care but the staff at their First Avenue program are truly exceptional.

When S. was "emergency airlifted" out of First Avenue in Grade One, they re-opened the day care an hour early so that staff could meet him at the bus (his temporary school was further away and the school day ended earlier) for the rest of the term (from February until June).

And, earlier this year, when I needed a space to launch my book, the staff offered their wonderful facility free of charge. They decorated it so beautifully and there was even a message on a chalkboard in the washroom telling me how proud they were of me.

And those are just a couple of examples.

This past week end, D. and I made a poster-sized card with a photo of our family. We all signed it. We also made cookies (I burned the first two batches, my spouse did the baking of the last couple, as I was becoming hysterical). We also gave them a bottle of gourmet chocolate sauce to pour in their coffee.

D. and I made cards for the three teachers who hosted the book launch. I want to make scarves for all three of them but of course, only one was finished. D. had me paste photos of the scarves in the cards for the other two, so that they would know what they are getting (I made a "Lace Ribbon" scarf for J., T. is getting a "Clapotis" and, if I can manage the pattern, I want to make "Juno" for A.)

I had T. and D. deliver it all to the day care, confessing to my spouse that I am "emotional coward." Apparently, the staff and T. have decided that I am not to be let off the hook, though, so S. and I will join T. when he goes to collect D. at the day care this evening.

There might be tears.

These photos were taken first thing this am and are thus not particularly flattering. I just wanted a photographic record.

To distract myself this, I thought I'd do this nifty little book meme that Sassymonkey wrote about at BlogHer:

"Using only books you have read this year (2009), answer these
questions. Try not to repeat a book title. It’s a lot harder than you
think!

Here's the meme with my answers. If you haven't read enough books so far this year to answer all the questions go back as far as you need to get enough books. If you've played it on your blog leave a link so I can go visit."

I was planning to do it even before I noticed that Sassymonkey had used my book to answer one of the questions but that particularly tickled me.

Describe yourself: Dragonslayer (Bone #4, Jeff Smith)

How do you feel: What It Is (Lynda Barry)

Describe where you currently live: Three Day Road (Joseph Boyden)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Toronto Noir (Janine Armin and Nathaniel G. Moore, eds.)

Your favorite form of transportation: Walk Through Darkness(David Anthony Durham)

Your best friend is: Tipping The Velvet (Sarah Waters)

You and your friends are: Casting Spells (Barbara Bretton)

What’s the weather like: All the Colours Of Darkness (Peter Robinson)

You fear: The Price Of Darkness (Graham Hurley)

What is the best advice you have to give: Nobody Move (Denis Johnson)

Thought for the day: Don't Look Twice (Andrew Gross)

How I would like to die: A Good Death (Elizabeth Ironside)

My soul’s present condition: Hurry Down Sunshine (Michael Greenberg)

I seem to have read a lot of books with darkness in the title.

RIP Emily

She was known as Sepha and her blog was Undone.

I have been meaning to email her, send her a package, comment on her blog. I have been thinking of her lots.

Now we have lost another one. Another smart, funny, creative woman has succumbed far too young to cancer.

Life, sometimes is so unfair. And damn, I wish I had sent that package.

My heart goes out to her family and her Dear Other.

I hate cancer.

a bright light lost

Smart, funny, creative, talented Sara has passed away.

I only knew her as an online presence (although we did once spend more than an hour on the phone together) but I am grieving tonight and for all the people that love her.

I am told that Sara loved red wine and good tequila so if you partake of either of these tonight (and even if you don't) please raise a glass in her honour.

I am going to put on the lava earrings I bought from her (they are my favourites).

Damn. Cancer really sucks.