Another Chance

Thirty years ago, I launched into Green Lake with the Seattle Canoe Club. From that beginning I paddled the canoe leg of Bellingham Ski to Sea, circumnavigated Baja, raced the 2,348-mile length of the Mississippi, expeditioned 21,000 miles from the Arctic Ocean to Cape Horn and miles between adventures. Tonight, I returned to Green Lake and launched a more significant journey. Kathy Garner invited and drove me to "From Hiroshima to Hope." The evening program included Silent Space for Reflection, Buddhist Peace Fellowship, Maryam Borghey, National Iranian-American Council, American Indian Storytelling, Seattle Kokon Taiko, Commission for Multicultural Ministries, Japanese Dance, youth poetry, and Mona Akmal, Dreamfly Projects. We made lanterns and participated in the Toro Nagashi. Quoting from the program; "The lantern floating ceremony performed annual at this event is an adaption of an ancient Japanese Buddhist ritual, the Toro Nagashi, in which lanterns representing the souls of the dead are floated out to sea and prayers are offered that the souls may rest in peace. The ceremony is reenacted each year at this time, in Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and in many cities throughout the world, in remembrance of the victims of the atomic bombings. The lanterns have come to represent not only those victims but also those who have died in violent conflict anywhere and have become symbols of our commitment to making a more peaceful world." The calligraphers of Beikokuk Shodo Kenkyukai and members of the Gurudwara Singh Sabha of Washington helped to personalize the lanterns with word of remembrance and hope.
When Kathy invited me, I knew that I wanted to go because my father was a P.T. boat captain in World War II. He impressed upon me that atomic bombs are wrong. He bought books about the crime of bombing Hiroshima and gave one to each of his children. I wanted to go to the ceremony because of what my dad taught me and for his memory. Steve went and Shammond too. Kathy brought her new tenant, Harley, a landscape architect student from Taiwan. We made lanterns with all the other people gathered on the shore of Green Lake.
When it got dark, during the procession of lanterns to the lake, I heard drumming, flute, dulcimer. Walking next to me was a Buddhist in orange drape. Others were chanting. I started singing "Silent Night." There was no protest in my singing nor sense of competition. I experienced permission and invitation in the diversity of the gathered community. The lantern ceremony reminded me of a Christmas Eve candlelight service where the congregation sings Silent Night and the electric lights in the church are turned off while each person present holds a candle. The light is passed and candles lit from the Christ candle on the communion table. The Toro Nagashi was outside at the lake with crowds walking toward the water, each carrying the light. We were all walking to launch. I got to the break wall and found that others were handing their lantern to a people knee deep in water assisting with launch. I wanted to set my lantern in the water myself so I walked along the lake shore until I found a gentle slope. Though it was dark, people on shore recognized my quest, reaching their hands to help, showing me where I could step without falling. "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright." My lantern touched the water. I let go of the lantern's wooden base. My light set too near the shore reeds. I needed a stick to push it further. "Round yon virgin, mother and child, holy infant so tender and mild...." Close by a boat with oars was resting. I borrowed one oar. Now I had a familiar tool. I returned to the water's edge to gently push my lantern into deeper water. "Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace." The lanterns were bobbing. Each, a wooden base with candle in the center. Four corner poles held the white velum paper in a square so that the black ink drawings and markings were vivid banners. A mainstream of lanterns floated with peace messages. I stood on shore holding an oar straight up and watching my light join the parade.

Mr. Bean

One of the reasons we came to Seattle Cancer Care Alliance for the bone marrow transplant is the infrastructure and support. Volunteer Services work overtime. One example is Lunch and Laughs. On Tuesday, I got a free lunch, a hand-out on the therapeutic virtues of humor and a Mr. Bean video viewing. I don't usually like comedy because a large part of comedy seems to be the invitation to laugh at someone hurting or being hurt. Mr. Bean is different, perhaps because he is so serious being counter-cultural. In one episode Mr. Bean makes a sandwich in the park. He uses a scissors to cut a loaf of bread. He washes a lettuce leaf in the drinking fountain, takes off his sock, shoves the lettuce leaf in the sock toe and twirls the sock as a lettuce spinner. Mr. Bean is good medicine.

In the World, Not Of It

Return to Washington Island. What will it mean? The kids hope to start school on September 1. We will assess and work with our molded house and car sooner than later since a fungal infection could be deadly for me. REI has a large-size camp rest mattress that I'm buying and carrying home on the plane. Tenting is my choice. After spending over 1,000 nights in a tent during my canoe expeditions, I'm looking forward to sleeping under stars again. The tan team wasn't real impressed. "Don't sleep on the grass," said the tan team nurse. "Spread a large tarp." I wonder if she is a camper. How did she know a tarp usually marks the tent's foot-print? Volunteers on Island have cleared out the flies and food that were left and the maggots that got busy after Joe was evacuated. From e-mail and phone reports I'm hearing that mold and mess are rampant. This past November, Becky Kuznicki nominated our family for ABC Extreme Home Make-Over. Yesterday, Dorothy Lindsey sent an article from the Green Bay newspaper noting that Lexington Home Construction are standing by for a northeast Wisconsin ABC make-over in August. Five finalists are in the running, the winner to be announced August 14. Who knows?

Bok Choy

"I'm bored," says Korrina as she lounges on deck of the 38 foot sloop afloat in Elliott Bay. We've enjoyed a bar-b-cue with table clothes and flowers on the tables, balloons, magician, hoola-hoop dancer, door prizes, free sun-screen and wrapped chewables, and a boat ride organized by Beams and Dreams, a not-for-profit organization started by 13 and 15 year-old brothers helping cancer survivors. I knew our family needed to be matched with a skipper stout of heart. We got Justin, an unflappable young man who welcomed us aboard and headed out from the break wall into open water.
We toured the Seattle piers, cruised by the waterside of the Aquarium, minisculed ourselves beside the Norwegian Star tour boat, watched the containers loaded for ocean travel. The skyline of Seattle never looked so good.
Korrina got bored after her balloons took off from her grasp with her necklace attacked to the ribbons. If only I had the presence of mind to sing to her........" In a moments time the pirates could attack, in a moment, your brother could poke and whack, in a moment a sea gull could poop in your eye, in a moment, a cloud could fall from the sky, in a moment the snarks could bite your toe, in a moment the wind could tie your hair in a bow.... so enjoy this moments of quiet." I didn't sing but decided to make conversation with Justin. I was talking to him about our cab ride in to the marina. He asked where we live. When he heard the Pete Gross House Justin explained that he moors Bok Choy in Lake Union. Did we want to go through the Ballard locks with him? Believe it! The day changed on that dime. We were no longer sight seeing. The kids got to steer. We stopped to pull Justin's crab pots. 15 crabs in one pot and at least 10 in the other! Justin was incredulous but it seemed no surprise to me. He had set down his nets on the side of hospitality and generosity. Other boaters reported a terrible crabbing week with a haul of one or two. Joshua, Korrina, Kayla and Shammond learned to hold and measure crabs, throw back the females, feel the shells for soft and throw back, store the keepers. Kathy LeClair took pictures. The "I'm bored" was never heard of again. Locking through was a life-time adventure for the kids and ecstatic for me recalling my 2,348-mile Mississippi River Challenge during which I paddled into and rode through every lock in an 18-foot canoe for the Guinness World Record. The kids worked the sloop's bow and stern ropes to attach Bok Choy to the sailboat to port side in the large lock. A harbor seal cavorted at our bow in the current. Kayla regaled us with Habor Seal habits like eating squid, fish and clams since she learned these facts and more in Hutch School during her Harbor Seal project. The lock opened. The bridges parted and lifted. It was past 7:00 p.m. when we motored into Lake Union and moored. Joshua and Shammond helped carry the crabs from the dock to the parking lot. Justin owned a van. We all fit in.

Homeward Bound

The Seattle Cancer Care Alliance volunteer came to pick up Kathy today at 6:00 a.m. He introduced himself and opened the trunk of his car. "I'm Kathy," she told him. "You don't know the half of it," I tell him. She wouldn't brag so I had better tell him. I'm standing on the curb in my robe and slippers making testimony. "Kathy canceled a trip to Ireland. She came out here in April to stay thirty days and decided to stay with us all this time. She carried my bags and washed my clothes, changed my bed, cooked my food, took care of our kids, sat through appointments, held my hand, rubbed my back, made sure I took my medicine, listened to every dribble and pip I had to say to get through this bone marrow transplant and got on her knees by the side of her bed to pray every morning when she woke. You got precious cargo here," I reported. "I'll probably weight down the plane with this suitcase," Kathy said as the driver picked up her belongings to load into the trunk. "The heft you are carrying is no suitcase but a heart of gold," I counter. Kathy settles herself in the passenger seat. She looks radiant. If air traffic control and schedules work for good, she and Gene have a plan to reunite and have the door of their home open and ready for Wednesday evening Bible study tonight.

Ninety-Nine Sheep and the One Lost

Steve really wasn't lost. He was on Washington Island. When Joe was evacuated from the Island I figured it this way: Steven had "lost" his mom to cancer (I had spent more days in treatment since my diagnosis in November, 2009, than at home.) Steve had "lost" his dad to break-down, (at the time of Joe's evacuation from Island, Joe didn't know who he was nor where he was). Steve had lost his birth mom and birth dad before us. At fifteen years old, he sure didn't need to loose his life which includes playing soccer, drumming in a praise band at Bethel Evangelical Church, close friendships and much more.
When a person has cancer, the to-do list puts "settle your affairs," near the top. Who gets the toaster has nothing to do with it. "Mom, are you going to die?" is a routine topic at our house. After I tell them that one day I will die, the next question is "what will happen to us?" I listen to each one of our children for what they want for themselves. I already knew with Steve. He loves the Island. In April, before I left Washington Island for the bone marrow transplant in Seattle, I spoke with Joe, the school counselor and administrator and shared my intention. They concurred. Then, one Saturday night at the Bethel Church, after singing praise music with Steve as a drumming worship leader, in the band with his friends Andy and Joey and Ben the youth leader, I asked Lisa Munao if she had time to talk. We sat on the little chairs in the church nursery. I shut the door and gave a preamble summarizing my health risks before cutting to the chase. "If I die, will you take my son?"
I offered my little boy, my little boy who came to me when he was three -- brought to the door in grey and green Spartan t-shirt and shorts bulged with a diaper by an emergency foster care provider working with Children's Protective Services. That first night, twelve years ago, Steven walked into the parsonage, stood in the hallway and started pounding his head against the wall. I sat down on the floor, called out his name and held out my hand until he took my fingers. When Steve was five his adoption was finalized. Steve was seven, when three-year-old Joshua arrived. Joshua stood at the back door window, looked out and cried on his first night with us. Steve walked over to Joshua, put his arm around Joshua, patted his shoulder and said "It will be o.k. buddy." Steve moved over for every new kid who came into our house, shared his toys, shared his mom and dad.
When Joe was evaculated from Washington Island, Steven stayed on Island with the Munao family. Now is the time to re-bond as a family, orient Steven to what we are living in Seattle at the Pete Gross House and Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, provide him with time, space and support to process before school starts.
The night that Steve arrived in Seattle, the door on Room 603 at Pete Gross House had a welcome home banner with his name on it. Even after all the kids fell asleep, I couldn't sleep that night. For a long while, I stood by Steven's bed listening to him breathe.

Now We Are Six

"I want to go with you to the airport to pick up Steve," says Micala and Shammond. "If you are going with me then you will have to get used to being embarrassed because I'm going to call his name, hug and kiss him and probably cry," I respond. "We're going," they both announced. When we arrive at the airport, on cue --the glass doors open for us and I start crying even before we get into the terminal. Micala glares and says "mom, you are embarrassing me." I start yelling out, "Steven Ervin, Steven Ervin," even before I can see him, hoping he hears my voice in the crowded baggage claim. Shammond spots him first and runs to Steve's side. Steve allows the I-haven't -seen- you- since- April- 12- when- we- left- Washington- Island- for- Seattle hug and gives one back and I don't know if it was because he was tired, jet lagged or just relieved that he was cushioned with family but he thought his bag is red and it hadn't shown up so we report the bag lost. We were still in baggage claim when an agent brought a blue bag that said "Steven Ervin." Steve is home (away from home) with a bag of dirty clothes from Teen Angel Camp. August 1, 10:29 p.m. touch down flying United from Green Bay to Seattle. Six kids ages seven through 15 in our Pete Gross two bedroom apartment. Praise ye the Lord!