Yes, Becca. There is a Whiskey Jack Flats.

O this makes me laugh. What a joy to read 'Becca's post about her patient and their discussion about whiskey jacks. I say 'Becca, hold the old boy hostage and get a mazillion hats. Or at least two for Karen and I.

So, what are Whiskey Jacks? They are members of the Corvid family, related to their raucous cousins, the bluejays, lovely magpies, crows and, bowing deeply and reverently, to one of our totem animals, ravens. This makes whiskey jacks incredibly smart, tricksy as a Hobbit with a ring in it's pocketeses and fun. They are, along with ravens, truly a bird of the wild northern forests. And that is one of the reasons we adore them so. Karen has posted a photo of whiskey jacks after they trained us to give them the dry cherries from our gorp. That was on Crooked lake, in the BWCA, last summer.

That is the bird, but what is Whiskey Jack Flats? I think the short answer would be 'a state of mind' but that doesn't cover the question adequately. I have been thinking of making a poster and hanging it outside our door. Kind of like-Port of Entry- Whiskey Jack Flats. Here is what we think it should say:

WELCOME TO WHISKEY JACK FLATS

Since Whiskey Jack Flats occupies both the state of mind as well as the physical space around Karen and Mike, Portagerat and Angelique and the friends and family of Whiskey Jack Flats, we bid a hearty welcome to all guests bearing the following:

• Love and compassion in their hearts and minds
• Humor
• Courage
• Trust
• Openess to all faiths and spiritual beliefs
• Good food and drink
• Willingness to help others
• Peace
• Honesty
• Prayers and good wishes
• Positive Energy
• Hugs and Kisses
• The Spirits of Sisterhood, Brotherhood, Equality and Freedom
• Foregiveness

We ask that you do not enter into the physical or mental space surrounding Whiskey Jack Flats, Karen and Mike, Portagerat and Angelique, or friends, family or loved ones of Whiskey Jack Flats, with any of the following:

• Hatred
• Anger
• Religious Intolerance
• Violence in your heart
• Violence in your mind
• Spiritual Intolerance
• Racism
• Fear
• Aggression
• Sexism
• Negativity

If you are carrying any of the above, please return home or leave them in your vehicle. Please maintain a hugely infinite buffer between yourself and members and family of Whiskey Jack Flats.

PEACE,
Mike and Karen

"I Wish I Had a River..."

"I could skate away on."
That is a line from one of my favorite Joanie Mitchell songs. Yesterday we paddled on Turtle River, visiting again, a stretch of water I have paddled many times over the years. Paddling together is one of the things Karen and I enjoy and any time Karen is on or in, a river, she is happy. We needed happy. The whole of the time on the water was a welcome respite from a week that was in some ways, too long and in all ways, too exhausting.

We were paddling with friends, Dave and Tammy, their daughter Claire and her friend Hannah. Karen and I introduced them to the Jolly Rancher game and they introduced us to the silliness of young girls in a canoe.

Red-horse suckers zoomed upstream, jetting past us as we floated over pools in the river bends. Quick, bulbous torpedos visible for just a second against the river bottom before disappearing to deeper, darker water and safety.

Schools of minnows turned and flashed in the shallows as one, sparkling like the shiny scaled skin of a larger fish, displaying for our pleasure. A few times a minnow made great skipping leaps out across the surface, past the bow of our canoe and I imagined a hungry northern pike chasing the minnow toward shore, hoping to enjoy the taste of success.

It may be cliche' to say "the river worked magic and we were cured" but something like that did happen. We, all of us, came away feeling better; not cured, but better. Tammy is a breast cancer survivor and an inspirator for Karen. Tammy wanted to be crabby in the morning. Karen and I wanted to be stressed about getting the garden done and the lawn mowed before our trip to the Cities but the river took all that away, pulled it from us, through our hands into the paddles and from there, into the river where the red-horse suckers scurried away. Somewhere downstream right now, maybe in Kitchi or Cass, our troubles are floating, lost and alone and afraid without the comfort of a host to cling to while we, all of us, smile as we drift along, down the rivers, (literal and metaphorical) of our lives.

" I would teach my feet to fly... O, I wish I had a river, to skate away on."
Peace and love,
Mike

Off to see the Wizard

The first time I saw Minneapolis was back in 1978. I was heading to an FHA conference (and you can just stop laughing) with some kids and a teacher from my school. Now, having been born and raised in the Chicago area I had a pretty good idea what a "city" looked like.

Chicago sprawls out for miles and miles; the buildings gaining height the closer you get to the center until poof! you are standing under the Sears Tower. There's bumper to bumper traffic, elevated trains, the roar of jets taking off from O'Hare and at the time I lived there, trolley buses. There's a dirty river and a dark cloud of smog ringing the city, horns, bells and sirens.

Minneapolis, on the other hand, sprung forth from farm field which seemed to run right up to the edge of the city. Just like it had been planted. It was the Emerald City set on a hill against a cornflower blue sky. I half expected to see cows in the down town area or at least horses of a different color trotting on the streets.Even all these years later I still think of Minneapolis as the Emerald City, though I must confess to liking St Paul better.

Today, Mike and I take off in our ruby van for Minneapolis. There's been a small tornado and we are going to see the wizard (Dr Sahin). While we don't need a heart, or a brain (again, stop with the laughing) we could use a little courage and a way to get back to what we've known as home.

I'm certain there is a witch, Winkie guards and flying monkeys in our future I'm just as certain that we will find our way home for as Glinda the Good Witch says, "Home is a place we all must find, child. It's not just a place where you eat or sleep. Home is knowing. Knowing your mind, knowing your heart, knowing your courage. If we know ourselves, we're always home, anywhere." And there is no place like home.

Peace,
Karen

This Being Human

I'm sitting here thinking of all the things that need doing:
make the additional raised beds in the garden
so I can plant the rest of the seeds & seedlings
cut out a quilt
finish a beaded hankie
vacum
mop
eat breakfast
let the dogs out
get ready for work
make sure I'm ready for the class I'm teaching tonight
eat breakfast

And then my own words come back to me...are we human beings or human doings?... and I'm conflicted.

I think we should be human beings but hide in the human doing. Take me for example. Right now, if I would just stop and "be" I'd "be" alone with my thoughts and feelings. While some of those thoughts and feelings are good; how lovely the beads of dew on the tips of the pine needles looks, how deep my love for Mike feels or how good my coffee tastes, some are very hard and uncomfortable and I'm not really excited to hang out with those. This where the doing comes in.

When I'm doing, I'm not being. I'm Scarlet O'Hara saying, "I can't think about that now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow." And then tomorrow comes and I don't think about it. I just keep on doing. Hoping to out run the discomfort as it rolls along picking up debris and becoming more powerful.

I'm not saying we should cast aside our chore lists. We all have things that need doing. It's the intent which needs to be examined. It's about mindfulness and being present. It's about why we do what we do to be who we are, if we even know who we are.

It's a lot to think about on a pretty spring morning and I'm going to let Rumi sum it up while I go off to sit on my steps with another cup of coffee.

Peace everyone,
Karen

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all
even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture.

Still treat each guest honourably,
he may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~Rumi

So, How are you?

"If you don't want to know the answer, don't ask the question."-Karen

I have heard her say that many times. These days when someone asks me how I am doing, I pause. Do they really want to know or are they just being polite? Maybe they just want an opportunity to tell me how they are doing. I also know from past experience that telling someone I have cancer can be a real conversation killer so I try to be careful when I am asked "So, how are you?"

If I tell them I have cancer then I have to tell them I have rectal cancer.
"What?"
"Rectal cancer"
"What's that?"
So I explain. A quick impromptu lesson in anatomy and function never hurts, especially in crowded public settings. Hell, yesterday I had this whole conversation on the street in front of Ben Franklin. If you have been poked and prodded enough, there is no shame. But why rectal cancer? Why couldn't I have had something classier or sexier? What is more sacred than our mother's bosom? Yet only 2% of breast cancer affects men so what can I do? Rectal cancer; sheesh. Imagine Larry the Cable Guy telling one of his redneck buddies:
"Hey."
"Hey, ya sef."
" 'S up?"
"I got the cancer."
"Damn." A pause-" W' kind?"
"Rectal."
"Huh?"
"I got me a monster in my ass what's tryin' to eat me alive."
"Damn. .. Can I have yur turkey fryer? My wife's ol man is gettin' outa jail an' we's throwin' him a party. Ya know, to celebrate?"

Some people just don't get it and some people are afraid they'll get IT, so they don't want to talk about IT. That is just their way of dealing with what can be a monster, even if the monster isn't trying to eat them alive. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't be wearing a large scarlet 'C' on my chest to make it easier for people. That way they could choose whether they want to talk to me or not.

The context of the conversation, the setting, the person; I take them all into account these days when someone asks me "How are you?" For the record, I don't have a turkey fryer, so don't ask about that.
Mike

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

~ Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg got it right in his poem Fog. Fog has a way of narrowing our vision, focusing us on what is close even though we know there is so much more out there. In the fog sounds are muffled, smells are muted, senses must be strained or given into and we slow down. Fog allows us time with the here and now instead of the now and then.

This morning we have our own fog milling between the trees, crawling across the landscape softening all the hard and sharp edges. Soon the wind will come up and shake this blanket off but for a short while all is still.

Our weekend was foggy, except for my brief foray into the darkness of anger. I snapped out of it. Mike came home and we are no worse for the wear. We focused on the here and now. Spent time with friends. Mike had is first Martini. We gardened, had friends stop by. There was a fish fry with Jon and Trish. Brats, beer and a lot of Brandy with Jeff & Cindi. Dianne brought us a picnic complete with her famous potato salad but, "no buns because this isn't a pity party." Karen O missed us but left medicinal chocolate. There was Star Trek, wow...really fun ride... a trip to Home Depot but mostly there was time for Mike and Karen to be together and that's something we are very good at.

There is an unbelievable closeness between us now. Not that we weren't close before it's just that it's so focused at this moment just like when you stand in a thick fog and have to move very close to an object before you can clearly identify that it's something you know.

So for now I'll take the fog because it's hard to say when the wind will lift it away and reveal the bigger picture. Maybe next Monday? I don't know? Until then I'm going to enjoy these softer days. I'm gonna just sit here on my little cat feet and look over the city until it's time to move on.

~Karen

I found my tree...

This is what I wrote yesterday. Right now rain is falling but I know the sun is shining somewhere.


Away from the sunlit parking lot the spring woods are cool and for a moment I want the warmth of my jacket and gloves, resting on the seat of my Jeep. Tall red and white pines form a high arching tunnel overhead, guiding me through into the open canopy of quaking aspens, red maples, basswoods and red oaks. Only the quaking aspens have committed to the idea of spring and summer, flaunting their intense green leaves in defiance of the frost that covered them earlier in the day. The other trees retain a shyness that seems inappropriate given the necessity to leaf out and grow in a place where summers can be too short.

Oven birds sing Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!. A loud staccato burst echoes through the woods. I imagine a sapsucker drumming on a treetop, hammering out a territorial imperative. Again the sapsucker drums in a whir of sound yet each note is distinct and unique. They are merely connected by a common interest, a common cause.

I want to see this bird and let my ears lead the way. My eyes and feet follow; a few steps, a pause to listen and then a few more steps. The leaves on the forest floor are crunchy and I try to be quiet as I move slowly around trees, over limbs, pausing to watch and listen. Closer and closer; the drumming hasn't moved and is coming from...Hmm? The red oak or the aspen? Neither look dead enough to provide such a splendid sound board. One more step and the leaves underfoot give me away. The bird appears from the far side of the red oak and my eyes trace the looping path between trees until he lands 60 yards away and begins drumming again. This time the sound reaching my ears is muffled, not by distance but by the quality of the tree. I turn and walk back to the trail, my eyes scanning the ground for morels among the leaves and wood anemones. A few minutes later I hear the drumming behind me. Loud and clear the sharp tones ring through the woods and I smile. The bird has reclaimed his chosen tree.

As I walk my attention is divided between the birds and trees and sunlight dancing at my feet, and Karen at home, stuck in her anger. Maybe I should have stayed home to help her work through it, to listen while she vents but truly I felt the anger was something I could not fix for her. I felt the best thing was to take care of myself and today, that meant a walk in the May woods. I filled my Camelback, grabbed some fruit, my notebook and walking stick and left for the Maze.

I walk slowly, wandering from side to side, following wherever my curiosity leads me; pausing to 'pish' warblers and smile at the faultless blue sky. My attention comes to rest on the trunk of an old white pine standing next to the trail. Gnarly stubs protrude from its' wrinkled and pitted sides, reminders of days when each branch and needle captured the voices of roaring winds and the peaceful soughing of the evening breezes; the stubs are reminders of a greater glory. I like big trees and I really like big, old, twisted gnarly trees. They speak to me of hard times and survival; thriving in spite all the world throws at you.

My eyes continue following the trunk upward and surprise! There, near the top, several branches extend green needles to the sky. The upper limbs are raised like a supplicant in prayer, like the graceful sweeping arms of a dancer, capturing in simple swaying movements, all the energy of life. What at first glance I thought to be dead is really living and alive, still growing albeit more slowly, this tree is everything I want and need in my life at this moment.

That was yesterday. Karen is better. Good advice and time and patience help. She is feeling better knowing she is passing through predictable stages of grief. We both have fears and I tell her we have to acknowledge them and let them go. In meditation thoughts come to you, you acknowledge them and return to your breathing. In the same way we can recognize our fears but return to our breathing, our living, our lives. Or else the fears, the blackness, will lead us in a direction we don't want to go. We must, as Thich Nhat Hanh says "Breathe in, Breathe out, Smile."

The rain and sun fall on each of us, in different amounts. It is up to us, like my old wrecked white pine, to choose to grow. Peace to all of you.
Mike

Coming undone

"I'm not prone to quitting, I'm just prone to fits of wanting to quit."
~Karen Forbes

It's a "fall apart day" today. I'm pissed and well I don't know what or where Mike is because while I was sulking under the covers he took off in the Jeep. I'm going to guess he's out at Movil Maze walking it off.

I couldn't talk to him this morning. Couldn't tell him why I was angry, not that I don't know why it's just that he doesn't need it. He's got enough to handle without me laying a bunch of crap on him. And some of the things I'm angry about are already done and in the past, being mad about that is just irrational. It won't change anything.Being mad about what may happen in the future is worse yet since we have NO idea what that will be. Then there's the guilt for even feeling mad. Wow...this is screwed up. Help, someone pith me!

In my head, I know, I KNOW, this is a grief stage. I know that if I don't express my anger I will become bitter and depressed (and that will be of no help to Mike). I also know that my being angry is a sign that I am beginning to deal with this whole...whole....whole what? Situation? Is that what to call it? Adventure? Ordeal? Hmmmm, I'm open to what we should call this.

I think it's the helplessness of it all that really makes me mad. I don't know what to do about it...I can't fix it. I can't fix it. I don't know what to do because I can't fix it. There it is! Karen can't make it better. It's failure. It's a complete sense of failure on my part because Karen always makes it better, always fixes it. I'm the default problem solver, decision maker, handy-man and I have something that I can't fix.

I'm feeling a lot of pressure to be positive, to keep a brave face for everyone, to be as my sister-in-law said, "a rock for Mike."

I don't know how to take care of myself on this one. Maybe, I need to say how scared I am to more people. Maybe, it's that I need to say that I don't know how to ask for help because I don't know what kind of help I need. I don't know what I need from everyone who says...let me know how I can help you. I just don't know how to do this..........

Karen

Some good news today

Karen and I have some good news today. My CEA number is 1.5, well within the normal range. The CEA is kind of a confirmatory indicator for colon cancer so as I see it, combined with my colonoscopy, this means I don't have colon cancer. I have rectal cancer, closely related to colon cancer and maybe the CEA has no bearing on predicting the occurence of rectal cancer. My CT scan also came back with good signs. The med-speak used in official reports is a crazy language, all unto itself. The human body is an amazingly technical contrivance and there is a medical term for every nook and cranny. All my nooks and crannies look good. My colon was full, (tell me about it. I haven't pooped since Sunday) and I think even my gizzard is good. I know we have gizzards because Grannie Clampet always talked about them. Some mention was made about lymph nodes but there was no detail to tell us much one way or the other so I am going to assume the best until I know differently.

We have an appointment on Monday the 1st of June with Dr. Sahin of the Masonic Cancer Center of the U of M, down in Mpls. Probably an office consult and not much else. Hopefully we will come out of there with some kind of a plan and hopefully the plan will work.

We are both happier and more relaxed today. Good news helps and good wishes from all of you help us too. We find laughing really takes the edge off, making it easier for us to cope. A small rain shower is patting down the dust in the garden. Karen worked in our garden today, helped by the bluebirds, the hummers and the sparrows and crows. And now the rain falls, settling the dust at the end of a long week. Our best to all of you.
Mike

Someone elses life...

7:42 am

The sun has slipped behind the clouds and radarweather.gov says T-storms heading our way. Still, I'm going out to play in the dirt, be with the land, plant and shape a landscape, feel like I have a little control.

Our landscape has been in flux since Tuesday...ok, if I'm honest it's been that way for a few weeks. I knew in my gut that Mike had cancer. Don't ask me how, it's just one of those things. Still, when Dr Roy said they had found a "lesion" in Mike's rectum (a strange word) and that it was cancer, well, it was like he handed me someone elses life. I wanted to be wrong. I wanted to hand the word back and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't think this is mine. It must belong to the people in the next room."

I still feel that way. While I can say the word cancer I haven't owned it yet. It's like a stray dog whose owner will be around for it any second. You look at it's dog tag and call it by that name, you take care of it but you don't become attached because someone will be coming to claim it because it's not yours. Or, maybe it's more like a coat check....I dunno.

So, this word cancer hangs out with us now and it has friends too - Adenocarcinoma came the other day and after that carcinoembryonic antigen (nick name CEA) and then Oncologist, chemotherapy and radiation showed up . Cancer seems to be collecting word friends and this concerns me because it acts like it's gonna stay and have some kinda house wrecking party here.

Mike has been down this path before. For me, brand new. It's like one of those ucky portages through a bog. I hate bog portages worse than anything. I'm always afraid I'll fall all the way through and drown in the cold, dark water underneath. So, I move my feet as fast as I can to get to the solid ground and I try to remember to breathe. And that's what I'm trying to do here...keep my feet moving and breathe.

I know we will get through this and will have to take turns carrying the heavy pack, but right now...honestly...well I'd like to know how long this portage is going to be because it is not marked clearly on our map.

Karen

The Beginning- Again

Good morning.
32 degrees at 4:20 am. A thin crescent of waning moon is visible in the sky. Further to the south a planet, Venus (?) shines back, sharing the reflected light from our sun. This is one of my favorite times of day. The sharp-edged line between light and dark where the trees on the horizon are silhouetted against the brightening sky, is something that always captures my attention. I like to sit with a cup of coffee and watch the day grow. I used to do this more often but I don't have to get up so early anymore, so I don't. But when the brain turns on in the night and the words come and I can't sleep I may as well get up...

I have cancer, again, and Karen and I are going to use this blog to communicate with our friends and family; to get the word out to everyone at the same time. I think the idea is also to save time but I am one of those people who often wonders if computers, et. al., really save time but that is something to discuss with those people who think I am a Luddite. (Go to L. Uddite).

We are just in the beginning of this journey; the exploratory stages if you will and so much is unknown right now. What do we know? I have a lesion, 3-4 centimeters in diameter, in my rectum and the biopsy confirmed it as being cancerous. I had a CT scan of my abdomen and pelvis yesterday to look for other cancers and we don't have the results of that yet. And I had blood drawn to look for CEA, a carcinogenic embryonic antigen, which is an indicator used to confirm colon cancer. I have not received the result of that yet, either. Of course, we want a clean CT and a low CEA.

I went through all this back in December of '91 when I had colon cancer the first time. I never wanted to go through this again. I won't say this is familiar ground but the path is not quite as mysterious as it was back then. But that is just my opinion. I hope Karen offers her view. We are both frightened by the unknown. You cannot deny that it could be worse. I am choosing to be as positive as possible and trying to stay in the present moment.

In '91 I had the feeling that cancer was punishment for something I had done and karma was settling the score. I do not have that feeling this time. My cancer is, that's all and I, we, have to do the best we can to get better. I am not interested in being angry because for me, anger is debilitating and that would run counter to the effort, and energy I need to become healthy again. Last night on NPR I heard a segment about spirituality and healing and of course, I was drawn in. Later I visited the website and read the other programs in the series. The last story will air tonight. They are put together by Barbara Bradley Hagarty and worth checking out. What I am trying to say is that...I believe in the positive. That is, I try as often as possible to believe in the positive. I wasn't always this way but I really don't want any more anger or negativity in my life, now or later. My life has never been so good. Ok, I do have cancer but still. The last few years especially, have been the best in my life. Karen and I work hard at our relationship and we reap the benefits. I have worked hard at changing the way I think about life and how I deal with the situations we all face everyday and I reap the benefits of that work. Now is not the time for me to jump up and down like a mad troll, (thanks, Homz). I have colo-rectal cancer because I come from a family with a history of cancer. And because I am a Westerner and because of my diet and maybe, maybe, because of something else, whatever that may be. I cannot change whatever I may have done or not done in the past to invite this into my life. I can only change what I do in the present moment. I can only influence the future by the behavior I exhibit, now. That is why I choose not to be angry; that is why I need to foster an atmosphere of caring and love. That is why I need positive energy in my life. So, please, don't come around Whiskey Jack Flats full of rage and anger and negativity. Bring the healing power of positive energy.

So, that's what's up in our lives right now. We will post new stuff, test results and the like and invite others; friends, family and the world at large, to join us in this journey. Right now the moon is higher in the sky and fading fast as the light grows. I see frost on the roof so I know it is cold. Winter has been long but I believe in spring. And I believe I will put the water on for coffee and sit and watch the day begin.