Of Presidents, Valentines and Shamans

President’s Day. Another one of *those* holidays.  Here in Olympia, it’s another day to go shopping. A local store opened at 7 a.m. for their special sale today. I can think of nothing that would get me out of bed to go shopping at 7 a.m.

If I still lived in Laredo, Texas, however, I might be moved to get up early, at least in honor of George Washington‘s birthday, which is what President‘s Day used to be.  That’s a town that knows how to celebrate this holiday with style. The festive events are scheduled over the course of a month and include a historical George Washington performance, a Comedy Jam for George, and the Princess Pocahontas Pageant and Ball (to see an example of the elaborate costumes, go here: http://www.wbcalaredo.org/home/events/princesspocahontaspageantandball.html)

There’s also a Founding Fathers 5K run (imagine Thomas Jefferson running in tights and wig), a parade, the Society of Martha Washington Colonial Pageant (as equally extravagant as the Pocahontas ball), and a jalapeno festival, among other events.  Never mind that Laredo was established by the Spanish in 1755, when George Washington was only in his 20s. Never mind that George and Pocahontas never met and probably never even saw a jalapeno pepper. As I learned the year I lived there, it was a great excuse for the town to have a party and my students to miss classes.

Rain continues off an on here, and in Vancouver where the Olympics are underway.  We’re about 300 miles south of that city, and can actually say we’ve been skiing at Whistler, where the ski events are taking place. One hummingbird, Robin Hood, has reappeared sporadically to visit the feeder.  In addition to crocuses, we now have some early daffodils blooming.

My big flower mystery, though, is an interior one.  On Friday, the UPS truck arrived in the driveway and, after tossing our dog the obligatory treat so he could get to the porch intact (the dog picks and chooses when he wants to be a watchdog, so the deliverymen always come prepared with treats), the driver left a long box outside my door.  Inside were a dozen gorgeous red roses with a card that read Happy Valentine’s Day.  The trouble is, I don’t know who sent them.  My husband claims it wasn’t him, and there is nothing on the package or card to indicate where they came from.  So  — perhaps I have a secret admirer?  Or perhaps it was one of you? Anyone want to claim credit???   (I’ll never know if you’re fibbing!)  Wherever they came from, they brightened my day.

The Zap Count: 18 down, 15 to go.  I’m past the halfway point.  Yippee!!!

My visits to the radiation center progress routinely. In, out, zap, zap (and zap and zap). My brain goes numb — intentionally — during the treatment, and I listen to whatever plays on the radio that day. A little Barry Manilow, some Whitney Houston (incredible voice, too bad about the drugs). Today it was the Eagles and Phil Collins.  Looks like we’re moving up to hits of the 80s.

Though the treatments are physically far less difficult than undergoing chemotherapy, I am burdened by the daily reminder of this disease that my visits bring. The treatment period is much shorter than that of chemo (6 and a half weeks vs. 24), but I’ll actually make more trips to the radiation center (33 total) than I did to the infusion center. The technicians tell me that some people fall asleep on the table during treatment, and some actually snore.  The most excitement I’ve had was the day a technician accidentally pulled off my gown.  She had been reaching up to adjust the disc of the linac and caught the edge of my gown with her bent elbow.  When she moved away, so did the gown — rather like whisking a tablecloth off a table.  The technicians apologized, of course, and the next day we made a joke of it. Today I suggested we pretend the linac was just a fancy sort of tanning bed.  The technicians guffawed and said, “You’d get one strange-looking tan here.”  True, but I still think the room could be dressed up a bit with palm trees and beach umbrellas painted on the walls.

Dr. W says things are going well.  I’m starting to see redness in the skin of the treatment area, and my left armpit feels a bit swollen and uncomfortable. My body continues to work out the remnants of chemotherapy, a certain sort of heaviness and stiffness in the hips and legs, and I‘m told it can take up to a year before I feel normal, though by then I probably won‘t know what normal was.  On the bright side, my eyebrows and lashes have begun to reappear. And on Friday, the radiation technicians handed out Valentine’s chocolates to us patients.

Heading further down the path of healing methods, beyond the crystals and color I mentioned last week, I came across a publication called the New Spirit Journal, which is published in Seattle. It contains articles and advertisements from different types of healers in the area, everything from the Shamanic Herbal Tradition of the Wise Woman to balancing your doshas with music (the three primary doshas being earth, wind and fire — now you know where that band got its name).  Many of these modalities derive from ancient practices and focus primarily on keeping the body’s energy channels open.  My massage therapist has incorporated a bit of Reiki into the sessions, and I’ve found that it seems to increase the positive effects of the massage, making my body feel lighter and “clearer“ afterward.  Reiki is an energy therapy from Japan that involves the practitioner laying hands on certain areas to help open energy channels and promote healing.  Acupuncturists clear blocked channels with needles.  Practices such as tai chi are intended to keep the body’s energy flowing. You have to think that there’s something valuable in these techniques if they’ve been passed on through the centuries.

But as with things like used cars and appliances, it’s caveat emptor — buyer beware!  Among the classified ads at the back of the paper is one by the Reiki Ranch, located a little south of here, where you can become certified in Reiki and, while you’re at it, learn techniques for ghost-busting and ridding yourself of monsters and spooks. And then there’s the man who bills himself a psychic, clairvoyant and healer, who just also happens to be an interior designer.  Not one to miss an opportunity, he can do readings over the phone too. An ad for a different place points out that if you can’t actually pay for the classes at a place called Peace Communities, you can barter for services while you earn your “peace points.”   Trade a little housecleaning, earn some peace points….

In lieu of photos this week, here are links to a couple humorous sites I found while surfing:

1.  For those of you who, like me, can’t get your brain to stop whirring sometimes, take two cheap words of advice from Bob Newhart : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1g3ENYxg9k
2. And here’s something for those of you who get hungry while studying genetics.  Look for teeth marks on the short ones: http://www.seriouseats.com/2009/10/gummy-worm-chromosomes-art.html

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