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A white sky, snow on the ground, and patient grey tree branches moving in the cold wind define this day. The sharp shinned hawk seems to be constantly on the hunt, keeping the small birds away from the feeders. I just saw it try for a finch that had tucked itself into the small twigs of the Korean lilac. The hawk got tangled up and in those few seconds the finch flew off into bushes that are wrapped in wild rose vines. This is the best place of all for the small birds because the thorns make it inaccessible to raptors.

Our trip to Kansas City was good. We spent the entire time in the Crown Center because the snows and rains kept falling and my energy level dictated a limited menu of activities. Our room was on the 14th floor of the hotel, and there were floor to ceiling windows along one entire wall, so we looked out over the city with all of its changing activities during the daylight hours, and the myriad lights after dark. When we went about, Charles pushed me in a wheelchair. “Glorious” was great fun with the actors presenting the story with much charm and verve. The woman who played the lead was wincingly convincing*.

Early last week I had a sudden drop in the hemoglobin count accompanied by an increase in the bone pain, and I believe that this was the onset of a return to living on my own blood resources. The tired that arrives with the failing red blood is like none other that I have experienced. There is the “good tired” that one feels after working very hard and getting something virtuous completed, or the “good tired” of having had a really great party. Then there is the “tired” of looking out at winter for another set of days, or the “tired” of the political landscape. This blood tired is a withdrawal of “being”. There is less appetite for every part of life, including food or social interaction. Moving about is painful and cumbersome and sleep comes at any time of the day with the eyelids descending and conscious thought retreating. I will get a blood transfusion very soon, and hopefully, good days will return again.

*I might have said “convincingly wincing” – but I think that would have made the meaning confusing.

The great fable of the ground hog and its shadow sighting announces that there will be six more weeks of winter. Charles says, “I’m not surprised” and I say, “Oh good grief, what utter nonsense!” A cardinal sang out its spring song yesterday morning and I shall choose to go with the wisdom of the red bird of Sanctuary as translated by a desperately winter-weary soul. Charles then related that in his youth the small town in Kansas near his birthplace held an annual “Ground Hog Day’s Supper” at which event mountain oysters were served. I asked immediately, “Did you eat them?” “Can’t remember” he replied, and the whole conversation died with one final “Eeewww” from me.

This weekend we drive to Kansas City where we will attend the musical, “Glorious!” which is about Florence Foster-Jenkins, the woman who thought herself to be the best coloratura soprano in the world. She was in fact remarkably dreadful, but because she had wealth and was a part of the New York social set of the time, she gave recitals at her own charitable functions, finally agreeing to sing at Carnegie Hall to a sold out crowd at the age of seventy-six. Apparently, it was only then that she began to suspect that her attraction was not her beauteous voice – since she died shortly thereafter, it would not have been a great burden to bear. She can be found on YouTube and her music continues to have listeners to this day.

My energy is seeping away again. The last blood transfusion has lasted 49 days and that is good – the not so good part is the growing need for more sleep and rest. Meanwhile, I continue to have high hopes for an early spring, though the snow remains everywhere and the birds are tucking away pounds and pounds of seeds each day because of the low temperatures. Kansas City will not have cherry blossoms and palm trees, but a small winter’s adventure at a few degrees more warmth will be a wonderful change.

Sunlight has returned and dropped upon us amazing restorative qualities. Last week I had an overwhelming urge to flee the cold and relentless winter, and I began to make arrangements to join a friend in Florida. This would require a plane trip – the most commonplace sort of thing for so many of us. Charles met this intent with a stoic silence, but eventually, he said that it seemed a bit odd that after spending several years earth borne because of my lack of immunities, I would determine to “just do it”. He went on to say that while avoiding airplanes and airports might not be the factor in my remaining on the planet, it might possibly be a factor. I realized that I wanted to run away – not only from the cold and grey, but also from myself. Sadly, one cannot pack a bit of luggage and fly away from the reality of ones’ own being. I suppose if that were possible, there would be a lot more traffic in all categories of transport.

Alphie was the consummate dear dog during this time. He didn’t follow his usual pattern of going upstairs to lie down for his morning or afternoon nap, but rather, he remained very near, sometimes with his head on my foot, looking his usual soulful self and sighing hugely. He may have been sending “Bone, think bone” messages, but naturally I took his behavior to mean that he was in complete sympathy with me in my distress.

For now, we wait. John-paul sent a lovely photo of a little cherry tree blooming next to his back door in Seattle, and spoke of “happy rain” falling. “Like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.”* And praise God, in its own good time, spring always comes.
*Kahlel Gibran

Who knew that fog could come here to this place so far from the oceans and linger on and on? The trees are outlined with hoarfrost, the air is full of biting moisture, and our world is monochromatic. The day’s forecast is for freezing rain, with more fog and ice forming everywhere. We build up our fire, give thanks again for the warm house and haul more seeds out to the feeders. It surely must be a trial for the creatures now; we see very little of them as we walk.

On Monday my GP and I reviewed the blood reading that came back from the Med Center in Omaha. The “blasts” have advanced quite a bit (The statement reads: “Interpretation:
A CD34-positive blast population. . . This finding is consistent with persistent myelodysplasia/acute myelogenous leukemia”.) When I looked up the term “CD34-positive blast population” I read that the average survival time is 126 days. Since I have never been average, I doubled that number, and that takes me well into next fall. Charles had the lovely idea of making this the year of The Celebration our 50th Wedding Anniversary. The actual date of the anniversary doesn’t arrive until August, so we will commence much earlier, making it up as we go along. I am warm, I am loved, and for this day and life in this time and place, I am filled with gratitude and thanksgiving.

PS: This Blog has been difficult to write because it is such a small subject compared to the horrors of the earthquake aftermath in Haiti. Charles and I have chosen the Red Cross as a first place to donate since they have a presence already in place there, and as time moves on, our churches will likely continue to send aid for years to come.