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Showing posts from June, 2013

Breast cancer chic... mostly just woozy

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Laurent and I decided that it might be best if I just cut my hair off, to avoid trauma for all. For 48 hours Lucy was insisting that I should glue it back on. But then, it had been the ostensible reason for her tears when we told her about the cancer. Poor muffin. It is very hot these days, 90 degrees plus, so we have taken to running Emile after the sun starts giving in to gravity. Always hard to keep up with a toddler, but especially in heat with chemo queasiness. We bundled little Lucy off to France yesterday, and skyped long enough today to hear all about the pain au chocolat and her bike ride with her cousins. Kisses, Lucy!

Now I am sitting in the chemo chair, which has a warmer and a back massager. I love Dana Farber.

Well, this is not exactly comfortable, typing with a big plastic jigger sticking out of my arm. I am over the moment of queasiness, which was remarkably short.  My sister just went out to buy espresso pods on Newbury Street for her fancy espresso machine. I am glad she went out for a bit, so she isn't stuck in the hospital, and I don't feel guilty that she is trapped among wires and sealed windows, and I have a moment to write.  But I am grateful to tears that she came with me, and stayed with me, and came back from France. I am very lucky to have a wonderful sister. Not everyone has such a good hand dealt to them. She was there during the birth of each of my children, she was there for each of my graduations.  Oh, except the one from art school, where I cried even though I had been miserable while I was there. Perhaps I cried from relief. Nevertheless, it was embarrassing, up there on the stage, grabbing the diploma while grimacing with tears. My

A haircut

It is very hard not to look on the internet. Generally I shouldn't, because of the scary pictures of swollen limbs, urgent recommendations for cold hats, and strident imprecations against Locks of Love. But it's also hard to do anything else, except maybe sweep the floor.  Before I had children I had an infinite ability to lose myself in projects and work. My husband, then my boyfriend, had to wait months before I was ready to take time out even to watch a movie together with him. Now I hesitate, endlessly prevaricate, thinking I don't have time ...  Something is out of balance when I feel selfish for writing or drawing or painting instead of watching a TV show. It isn't just the selfishness that holds me back, though. It's also the work. I have become not exactly lazy, but without hope. It does not matter if I make this painting or that, because I will not do anything with it. The time and materials will only add up to one object that must be well treate

Sharron Loree

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There are so many comings and goings these days that I can't keep anything straight. I will just share one end point of an internet thread I pulled ("surfing" sounds too pointless, less tangible). Emile has loved something I picked up for a dollar outside the bookstore, a hardcover called The Sunshine Family and the Pony , written and illustrated by Sharron Loree, published in 1972 by the Seabury Press, New York. The images are a simple black and white style, accompanied by minimal written storytelling, recounting the experience of moving into a commune and acquiring a pony for the children. On a whim, I started to poke around to find out how the hippie story really went. Sharron Loree, born in 1938, was on the vanguard of the 60s revolutionary guard for women. Many of her paintings reflect her complex understanding of the differing family roles, particularly when both the woman and the man are painters. Loree is mentioned as the person who helped writer V

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