you know, traveling is fun

I am visiting with friends here at the Marin Headlands, a glorious spot on the other side of some rocky crags from the Golden Gate Bridge. My friends from Hallelujah Acres in Branson (Missouri) and I did a whirlwind day trip sampling posh raw cuisine and catching up with one another, frequently while making a fairly significant carbon footprint indentation driving all over the local area. What a day! I'd returned from soCal only 36 hours earlier.

It was the beach again, with salty air breezes fluffing our psyches. And yet it didn't have the same ahhhhh as my few times breathing in the southern California ocean air. What is this visceral pull of memories and history?

Whatever it is, it's strong. When I lived in L.A. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Now I cruise through town on a visit, seeing beloveds, smelling the salt air only briefly and I'm singing like a lark. Go figure!

The trip was a joy, an utter joy. One of my DEAREST friends flew down from SEATTLE! and we went to a taping of the Craig Ferguson show in Hollywood. I adore that mad Scot and we both had a ball. I reunited with other friends whom I had not seen in 25 years. I met up with the parents of a high school chum - and had not seen them in over 30 years. The life-and-death wake-up call with my entire being, not just my bone marrow and cancer and all that terrifying stuff but ALL of me.... well, I guess it lets me reach out more and be a bit more engaging. Do ya think? I think.

I visited the graves of my little brother David Jeremiah, who died in 1967, and my father David, who died in 1988. I brought sunflowers since they seem to reach to the sky. I paced, I cried, I talked to them and they seemed to talk back to me. It's my imagination and I'm thankful for it as I am thankful for them.

I'm back in northern Marin County, working at home, looking out my window to Mt. Burdell, watching the birds storm any of my three feeders. Glowering at the squirrels. Egging myself on to jog or Rebound since, I am loathe to admit, I can be a bit lazy. This trip was an absolute gift from God. I pray that as the giddy bubbles calm to whatever resembles normalcy, I continue to thank my Lord.

I miss my father

I'm in L.A., staying on the Westside, not 2-1/2 miles from the oceanfront apartment building in which I for the most part grew up (deliberate double entendre). I can't even tell if my little brother David had been born yet - I think not. I was two when he was born and I'm so little here.

My mother Helen is on the left and my father David is holding me, proud as proud can be. I was his first child, my mother's second. And yes, until I was 5 years old, I was blonde!

I drive these streets and cry. Not all the time. But I am struck grieving the loss of my father who died in 1988 after being shattered by a massive stroke in 1987. I was 3 months sober. He never spoke again after that. I never recorded his voice or begged him for stories of his childhood that he never offered. He lost his parents and siblings to a Nazi death camp in WWII, a handful of years after having come by himself to America to live with and work for an uncle in NYC. He never spoke of his family. Once I wrote down their names. That was all he would say.

I've cried even from the Central Coast, from the bliss joys of the oceanfront in Pismo Beach, missing my beloved father. Cherishing my father. Thanking God for the man who raised me as best he could and for whom I pray every night. Mom will be another blog entry; this one is for my Dad.

I'm seeing people I love, many of whom I haven't seen in yonks. I adore where I live now in northern Marin County - I love my Church community, my friends, the glories of nature. This - southern California - is where I grew up. There is a visceral tug that stuns me, from the Westside to the South Bay. I turn another corner and think of my father.

--->HERE<--- are PHOTOS of my Journey so far. Click and enjoy.

oh dear, it's the paparazzi again....

I have a delightful tale to share with you that could well be apropos of nothing save for the size of this wonderful world and the threads that connect us. That's good enough right there, don't you think?

Those faithful and devoted readers of my inane burblings might recall a recent post - it was April 15th, to be exact - that featured a photo of a chubby baby seal in a yogic ballet pose on the shore of a German beach.

I took it upon myself to spirit the image off the web from the SFGate "Day in Pictures." And I fell in love with this seal. I have him in my iPhone photo album. He's even on the wall of my Chapel Office (you know, printed out on plain paper), sandwiched between my icons of Jesus and His Blessed Mother and my views of Mount Burdell. I'm a sap, okay? A rip roaring, goofball sap. This image stole my heart. My little buddy!

Ahem.

So one day I Googled "photo of seal in Germany." That would be good for, oh, 4000 hits, do ya think? Yes I do. By page 4 or 5, I found another website with the photo credit I'd initially failed to jot down. There he is! And I wanted to say THANK YOU. So I Googled "Axel Heimken Germany" and found a glorious photographic website (click on the word "website" and I'll take you there). In German, of course. I scrolled and scrolled. I didn't find my adored pudgy hammock but I could see that this WAS the right artistry. And I found a page where I could leave an email. Again, it's in German and I don't speak a word. (OK, danke - guten Tag - that's it). "Kontact" looked close enough. And I did; I said "Thank you."

And you know, he wrote back. And he asked if I'd like a copy of the seal photo in high res. I offered to pay and he said, "No." And he sent me two more! The second of those is featured here along with the original shot. In high res, of course.

I asked him how he got the shot. That face, that sweet face! Axel wrote, "It's quite simple to take good pictures from the seals - they are residents on a small island in the North Sea at the German coast.

You just have to wait ... when they come out from the water to reach their 'chill out places ' they do this with funny moves. If you take a long lens (they are very shy and won't come out of the water when you are too close) you'll be able to get good pictures.

Thanks again that you recognized my work!"

Is he a lovely man or what? I had visions of some stuffy international AP photographer who'd barely find the time to sneer at my gushing coos. While I shuffled my feet and said that initially I'd just taken the shot off the web, I did ask his permission to quote him here. There's denial and then there are decent manners. Perhaps if I am graced to grow older, I'll exhibit more of the latter than the former.

So go ahead, have a look at his website. He's amazingly gifted. I'd pondered becoming a pro photographer before I went in another direction, one not entirely detached from demon alcohol at the time. Let's see - pro photographer or musician in a bar band? It's hard to have a grip on a creative calling, connection with a God of one's understanding or even common sense when one is practicing a really unforgiving disease.

I needed to get sober and thanks be to GOD that I did and am today.

Grateful to be alive and sober is what I say in meetings. I am exuberantly thankful to the Lord for both!

kids with kids

Life continues joyous in its simple graces. Stacey took this photo of me and a 4-day old baby goat when she, her visiting sister Alex and I took a Sunday afternoon jaunt to the Redwood Hill Farm in Sebastopol. Periodically the owners let the public come in to luxuriate in a cooing pet-fest with these adorable creatures. I've attached a link of a Photo Gallery --->HERE!<---- for you to have a visual wander!

I met Stacey and her older (by two whole years!) sister Alex in Venice Beach in 1962. We were six and eight. A long time ago. With a homestyle bowl cut, Stacey first thought I was a boy. We played together out in the expanse of the deserted beachfront, sometimes with my little brother David. We formed the Shiny Stone Club. (Guess what we collected). Both families had their dysfunctional edges and muffled pains. We played. And 47 years later, we are still friends. What a miracle and a JOY!

I passed on sampling the cheese and kefir as I'm dairy-free today, but cuddle-o-rama it was for us all. There is a peculiar delight in having these little kids gnaw nearly toothlessly on your clothing, shoelaces and, if you're not careful, your hair. We came in our grubbies, rolled around with the baby goats, toured the grownup goats, had a picnic. We took a post-lunch stroll and found the tractor you'll see in the photos. It was a great afternoon out.

I'm cherishing my life these days. I awaken each morning and say, "Here I am, God. Show me how to love and serve You today." Jumbles of confusion from years past, brushed off as chronic anxiety or ADD, now smooth into a deeper rhythm punctuated by breaths of joy. Work is being renewed. Plans percolate without robbing from today. Friends are loved and prayed for.

I'll be visiting L.A. in a few weeks, seeing friends, visiting old 12-Step rooms, walking Venice Beach. My last trip out there was in September of 2008, the month before AML was diagnosed. The past 20 months have been, at times, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Right now I feel like clicking up my heels and saying, "Hee hee hee, I have today and oh it's a lovely one!"

God's double rainbow

My friend Tony took this shot of me skipping through a surprisingly drenching rain shower while a double rainbow arc'd at the end of the field where the sheep graze. (Yes, this could be the name of a town in Wales). It was a year ago. I wrestle to ably juxtapose a glorious double rainbow with nearly getting soaked.

As well I don't find this the most flattering shot of me, so my ego gets to squirm and step aside while I share dollops of goodness.... in fact, really awesomely cool news of YAY GOD!

Those of you praying for me while my counts sank over the months? If ever you think, "Well, this is probably useless" or wonder, "OK, God, please help Diane right now...." while you felt a bit wearied by the whole deal can just leap up and get some affirmation right here and right now. From April 5th, with the lowest of the lows white counts at zero-point-niner to April 22nd, try

this one: WBC 1.5! While I hung my head and thought, "Well, Lord, they can only go so low and then if You want me that badly, here I am," I prayed, too. I didn't do a moonlight dance or 150 affirmations a day. I didn't light candles or send money to anyone. I pondered life on life's terms and prayed. And so did you.

WBC 1.5! And those platelets? 83 to 110! And those shy little neutrophils that have been one-third of the minimum by which I was sprung from the hospital well over a year ago? 300 to 600 - they doubled!

This blood draw was for a visit with my former oncologist, Dr. Krijanovsky. I added in the fax number of a friend so that I could see the results prior to yesterday's consultation. "Is this {so-and-so} a doctor?" asked the lab tech. I paused. I'd already ruminated, "Hey. This is MY BLOOD! Don't play games with me!" After pausing, I said quietly, "Have you heard of the 5th Amendment?" She smiled. "Look. If there's any problem, call me, but please, leave the number in."

When my fax-equipped friend emailed me a PDF of the results and I opened them, I cried. He phoned me and I cried. Weeks of glum and glowering shattered. With a few lab values I could see that I was moving from possibly dying and relapsing to being SO BLESSEDLY OKAY I could almost hear Jesus say kindly, "O ye of little faith..."

Yes, it's now April 30th and I've been dancing with this for over a week. I didn't know what to say and how to say it. I still don't. And I'm saying it..... the counts moved UP. For the likes of me, this IS a MIRACLE. Today they are not what they were at the beginning of this month, in a downward trend that had been slugging on for several months.

God is in the midst of this. He will be in the midst of me when I die, as someday I shall. However it's thinking that the grim reaper is right around the corner looking at his watch that takes the wind out of my sails. And you bet your sweet bippy that this consciousness shift finds me in greater gratitude AND happiness!

Is it that vitamin IV infusion? Those Chinese herbal pills? Twenty minutes on the Rebounder? Raiding all raw organic at Whole Foods? The Presence of Christ IN the Eucharist? I'll make myself rabbit foot insane for trying to unwrap this to that degree. But Present He is. I pray that as long as I am alive, one day at a time, God shows me what He has for me to do in service.

I'll close with sharing that yesterday I had a positively lovely visit with my former oncologist, Dr. K. The possibility of a bone marrow biopsy didn't even come up. "I'll tell you why I made this appointment," I said to him. "I wanted to say hi." And it wasn't the nya-nya-nya that might've slithered in the door even a few months ago. It was a warm-hearted hello that began and ended with a hug and was a truly fun visit. I was able to be re-reminded that he was and is more than a 'part of the system' with which I have profound disagreements; he is a caring, conventional physician who had worried about me when I took off on my healing journey and was thrilled to see that after only one Induction and one Consolidation, I was well. Very well. Sixteen months after being sprung from the leukemia ward, with no further allopathic treatments, I was sitting in his office and laughing.

Julian of Norwich might be pleased, too. "…All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well..."

Hi. Do I look worried?

Someone in Germany may threaten me after nicking this image off the web, but can you blame me? Look at this liddul face! Look at this graceful, plump body in a ballet pose at the lapping waterfront. This is my new make-believe pet and symbol of ease today.

I was surrounded by supportive love after my last posting about those Damn White Counts. While their verity presumably remains, my angst has shifted. What good is that going to do? I was able to share my frightened demeanor, feel supported and then.... breathe. Breathe more deeply. And look to other things to capture my attention, many of which remain painful and involve the messiness, even darkness of humanity. My soul is heavy with the suffering of some of my dear friends. My anger is stoked by life's sheer unfairness at times. God loves me bratty while I moan, wave my arms and sometimes holler loudly.

Sometimes I sit in a 12-Step meeting next to another cancer- ..... what are we? Sufferers? Survivors? It's almost a demeaning label, that - for we are so much more than warriors against that which wants to kill us. So much more. But we have that connection and it's a bond, even a small one. "You're looking great!" We say it to one another and mean it. We compare notes, drugs, lack of drugs, near-misses, and then gratitude for this day. I still haven't nailed the heights of present-moments consciousness but I remember sometimes to savor the goldfinches stuffing their faces at my bird feeders or knowing that, sluggish as it may be, I'm heading out soon for a 20-minute jog. Not an hour? It's oxygen and life, still.

This little seal reminds me of my inner lightheartedness and grace which even when veiled are never wholly banished from my life.

Giddyup. Life is now!

Six years before I was born, my father David Luboff co-produced a Hollywood B-movie called Buffalo Bill in Tomahawk Territory. I have a copy of it as a VHS. When the credits roll, I cry. I miss my Dad something fierce.

This morning I was again struck by the disconnect between the cowboy at far left holding a gun to my Dad while smiling for the camera. (And go ahead, have fun with the costume-i-ness of it all.... it was Hollywood then!). Something's not on - the gun, the intention or the smile. We know what it is, but do I always know what's off? No. Not always.

During Holy Week I fasted from all emails and Facebook chatter. At the beginning of the week, I had suddenly felt imprisoned by every little red plop! that landed in my Inbox. My friends disappeared. My love for them had evaporated. There was simply..... all this EMAIL with no precious soul of substance at the other end of it all. And so I crafted an Auto-Reply that said, I'm not responding. And if you need to reach me, please phone.

No one did. But I did. The land of oh, I don't have the time! became reignited as intimacy caressing. I needed a break from emails and I took it. Doesn't mean they're bad. But enough already. Enough.

I also got to see my knee-jerk in action and make a conscious decision about it. I felt liberated for those six days.

I'm wrestling with thoughts and fears about the numbers again - my blood counts. After CLAIMING a complete healing IN JESUS' NAME, after eating one of the purest diets I have in decades, after.... you know, the whole health thing, really ramping it up, I wanted those numbers to RISE. Go! Giddyup! Reflect the Glory of God!

A recent blood draw showed the lowest white blood count I've ever had. I was crushed emotionally. And very, very angry.

White blood cells fight infection. Their lack doesn't leave one exhausted such as say with the red counts. And those reds, for which one can see I fail to thank God, are almost at normal levels. They seem to respond well to diet, exercise and nutritional supplementation. But whoa, the whites, my chemo-embittered, bone marrow-compromised whites. I've even talked to them, patting my legs. C'mon, kids. We can do it. Get your little asses UP there! And in came the numbers: .9. Zero-point-nine.

I wailed in the office of one of my practitioners who is actually more of a 2nd Spiritual Director to me, "How can I feel so good and HAVE THIS COUNT???" And one of the many aspects of her responses included the word "supernatural." I won't unpack everything here, but my idea of a miracle (the white counts being NORMAL and HEALTHY) and perhaps another way of seeing a miracle (shitty counts but otherwise abundant well-being) are having a meltdown at the Not Quite OK Corral. Hey God! I want it MY WAY! I want to be healed the way I WANT IT! And today, the numbers don't reflect that.

So I've been wrestling and not writing here. I remain neither "praise God, all is fabulous!" nor "oh no, it's wretched." I feel unnerved and vulnerable to share this here, but my fingers are tapping and my willingness is almost present. Regardless of what this means, I awoke this morning as I have many others. The moody clouds are overhead, which I love so much. I'll see my childhood pal Stacey later on. I'll worship the Lord tomorrow. And I'll continue to suffer with many CLOSE friends who are struggling with serious health ills.

I ain't smilin' with a fake gun pointed at my gut and I ain't dead yet, either. I'm poised at praising God. If His love is indeed unconditional, He'll love me bratty.

I think I need Him to.