Monday, March 17, 2014


I am horse feeder extraordinaire -- hauling hay bails on a sled from the storage barn on hard pack, blizzard blown snow.  At the barn door, I sternly admonish animals to "back-up," and make room for me.  The horses scoot, practiced enough to know if they do not give way, I will not proceed with their ration.  Three horses jostle for position at the outdoor feeder.  The Pony drives off the Mare.  I lift my bundle and dump hay into the trough.  Winter, minus 39 degrees did not deter me even when kids refused to bundle and help.

Becoming Horse

Kayla prances around the house pretending to be a horse.

"No one will ever marry her," says Joshua.  "No one will marry a person who thinks she is a horse."

Have you heard of the young girl who tied horse shoes to her feet and scampered with delight.  Kayla has not tried this yet.


Joe does not know my name.  His presence continues to secure me.  We adore one another and sleep holding hands.

Remarkable Case

Dr. Edus J. Warren, III, Fred Hutch Cancer Research Center, telephoned to report that researchers at M.D. Anderson, Johns Hopkins, and the Fred Hutch, have conducted deep level sequencing and DNA extraction on my blood samples collected during bone marrow transplant and follow-up.  "Your recovery is remarkable," Dr. Warren reports.  "Your leukemia has not come back and your immune system is rebounding.  We want to find out why your T and B cells are increasing and how we can do this more often with other patients.  We need five more tubes of your blood." I agreed to send blood and told Dr. Warren that what researchers find in the test tubes is only part of the story.  Thank you family and friends who participate in the miracle and continue in prayer. 

Monday, December 10, 2012


I get to be alive today.  With bonus -- Snow outside.  Full blanket cover.  Sliver of moon at 6:40 a.m.  Still in bed, I put both bare legs in the air, wiggle my neuropathetic feet and promise to find my skis.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

No Takers

So, we are sitting at the dinner table.  Not a spoonful of chicken noodles left.  Kayla had three helpings and ate her vegetables as we lingered.  Candle bright.  Full-bellied cozy.  "Kayla, I wrote a story about daddy being in the hospital.  Would you like me to read it to you?"  "No way," 10 year old Kayla replies without hesitation.  "I don't want to go back there."   Clear the dishes, no scraps to toss, turn on hot water, pour in suds and scrub.


October, 2012 -- Closing the kitchen at Bread & Water and returning to the writer's life is not an easy transition.  I've spent my summer bellied to the commercial stove and stainless steel counter tops at the cafe.  When the tourist season slowed, I believed I would write through fall and winter, cozy near the wood stove in my artist's studio.  The tourist season has slowed.  Now, I am face-to-face with my cancer journey which I would like to forget but .  I have to to tell my story.  Perhaps I worked so hard at Bread & Water and each new day to distance myself from the hospital bed and keep cancer at bay.  Now, I am scared to revisit the trauma but I hope to emerge by spring with a complete manuscript and character forged by the sword of a pen in combat with timidity.