There is so much going on right now: settling in to a new contract that takes me out of my home office once or twice a week; managing the back office for Rob's store where the usually busy summer season is doing greater volume than the previous three summers; co-writing a journal article; and getting ready to start in a new writing group next week.

Meanwhile it was time for the Catfish swim once again.  Having done reasonably well in a light field last summer, I had some hopes of placing this year but the front end of my age group was clogged with masters swimmers who can swim the distance in a thin slice of my time, so no go.

Before...

After

Parents

She is 85. He turned 90 last week, and they just celebrated 63 years of marriage.  No further words needed.

Cancer Sucks

A friend I worked with a long time ago and admire to this day - Kate - has cancer.  She is only 42.  She was a world level athlete in her younger days, playing softball for her home country - a country she cheerfully and self-deprecatingly admits is not a powerhouse in world softball. 

I tried to hire her a few years ago, before cancer struck for the first time.  I think it was hard for her to say no to me for a variety of reasons.  Looking back on it I'm glad she did say no, because she is so much better off having stayed put. 

A couple of years ago we spoke on the phone and she told me she had just been diagnosed with gastric cancer, much more commonly found in older men.  She had been dissatisfied with the diagnostics for what they thought was an ulcer, and pushed till she got a diagnosis.  She was scared but determined.  After months of chemo and surgery she was declared clear of cancer.  Her hair grew back, her color was good, she looked fit again.

Until this past January, when tests revealed that her margins were not so clear after all.  Back into treatment, daily radiation this time, to be followed by more chemo.  She decided to put together a team to walk the Relay for Life - 24 hours walking the community track to raise money and awareness to fight cancer.  I decided to join her team and walk.

After over 10 years' involvement with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training, visiting cancer patients in hospital, sitting at bedsides, attending too many funerals and - thankfully - occasionally a wedding, I admit I've pulled back sometimes from the work of befriending a cancer patient.  Even this year when I felt I should be contributing more to Kate, I was buried in the enormous challenge of taking care of elderly parents. 

So the Relay team was my apology - my feeble way of saying "Here is what little I can do".  I walked for 90 minutes.  I walked around the track whose infield was covered with tents and EZ-Ups, full of people wearing t-shirts with their team names, some professionally done, others marked with Sharpies, all in honor of someone they love who has - or had - cancer. 

There were hundreds of people slowly walking the track, hundreds more in the infield area in support.  From my own athlete days I took off as though it was a workout, pacing myself, counting laps, projecting how many miles I could complete in 90 minutes.  (The answer is 4.5.) 

As I walked in the setting sun of mid-summer evening, people began putting out hand decorated luminaria all around the inside and outside edges of the quarter mile track.  Gangs of kids pulled around wagons filled with nuts and bolts to weigh down the bags, and as the sun sank lower the candles inside were lit.  I walked and thought how each of those hundreds of luminaria bags represented a person; a person who was loved by someone at that track.

Rob came and walked the last 30 minutes with me. 

Cancer picker the wrong diva.

Ice Cream

I recently got a new counter-top ice cream maker (pictured here with my espresso machine, another story for another time), whose arrival allowed me to retire my parents' hand-me-down ice-and-rock salt machine.  Theirs was a serious ice cream maker with a rich history, having sat out on the back porch many an afternoon  producing homemade ice cream for all the family gatherings of recent years.  This little fellow, on the other hand is strictly an indoor operator who makes up to a quart of ice cream in the kitchen while you do something else - no ice, rock salt, or mess. 

My first effort was this blackberry cabernet sorbetto, which tasted as fabulous as it looks here: a deep, complex blackberry flavor tempered with the reduced red wine (I opened something generic for this - couldn't quite bring myself to cook down a good cab), and sweetened with simple syrup.  I took this to my friend Mary's surprise birthday party and it was a big hit.
 

 
Next came a mango sorbet, shown below.  This one was delicious initially on the tongue but had a slightly bitter aftertaste.  I used the green and red mangoes we get from Mexico.

 


Last night I tried a gelato, cooking the milk/cream/egg yolks/sugar base in the morning and letting it chill through the afternoon.  When I was ready to make the gelato, I stirred in a tablespoon each of ground coffee and unsweetened cocoa powder and some vanilla, and let that mix for about 25 minutes.  Then I poured in 4 oz. of chocolate chips and chopped almonds.

Oh yeah.

Now What Indeed

Now that I have been in this "new routine" for several months, I had hoped to learn something about myself in the process.  When it all started in February - quite unexpectedly - I hoped when the dust cleared to finally have time to write, to think, to develop content for my classes, to reflect - all without the arbitrary confines of having to go to an office and kow-tow to the wishes of others.  The hours and days stretched before mefree of the confines of working hours and external expectations for only the second time in my post-college life.

Or so I thought.

The reality has been much different.  The lack of structure, instead of freeing up creative juices, staunched the flow. Unused to creating my own productivity, I struggled to mark achievement.  My Mennonite work ethic said "work before play" and since I could not identify accomplishment, I could not allow myself the "rewards" of creativity - writing, photography, even exercise. 

So what I learned about myself was not what I expected.  I learned that I need some structure to feel productive: structure, not necessarily stress.  I have started to learn how to define structure and success and units of work for myself.  A blog post, a well-written email, some student papers, preparations for dinner - any of these can trigger the "we have worked, now we can eat" response from my growing up.

And now that things are getting a little better, I really hope that I can share more often.  I have some things to say.

In the meantime, here is a photo of me and my brother Jean Loup.  He is several years older than me.  I only hope my hair goes his color.