kitchen conversation (he's so, so right)

My spouse (after listening to lengthy rant #342 yesterday): "Not to excuse that person's bad behaviour, but a lot of things piss you off these days."

Me: "True."

Spouse: "Oh! We forgot to put the compost out!"

Me: (String of expletives, unprintable in a blog my children might read).

Spouse (Meaningful silence)

Then we both burst out laughing.

I need to get some perspective.

But at least I can still laugh at myself.

selfish (dear loved one)

I'm sorry that my fear becomes yours.

I regret that you get pulled into my panic.

I feel ill when my every cough, ache or bump twists your insides the way it does mine.

I would prefer to protect you.

I want to watch you smile, hear your laugh, feel your heart thump with joy when you pull me to your chest.

I don't want to make you scared, or sad or worried.

But I can't wish you weren't ever scared or sad or worried.

Because I need to share.

Because I need not to feel alone.

Because I need you.

taller than i

My beautiful first born turned 13 yesterday. The cliche is true - it happens in the blink of an eye. He's a good person - smart, creative, caring and funny. We are so proud of the man he is becoming.

alone on mothers' day

When my spouse first mentioned that he was thinking of taking the boys to the Toronto Comic Arts Festival in Toronto, I protested, "But that's Mothers' Day week end!"

Then I stopped to think.

"Would you be taking both boys?"

"I think I'd have to."

After a moment's thought (empty house! to myself! quiet writing and reading time!), I bravely said, "I think you should go. I don't want to deprive the boys of this chance."

My spouse (clueing in) "Do you want your Mother's Day present to be a week end by yourself?"

Me shaking my head and stammering and not quite keeping a straight face, "I'll miss you."

So they went. And I have missed them. I've also slept more than 8 hours each night, done a considerable amount of cleaning, read a book, watched stuff on Netflix, had dinner with a friend and taken the dog for a run. I still have time to catch up on some writing, make soup, take the dog out again and do most of the laundry. I'll be starting the week of with far less stress than I often do.

My boys had a lot of fun this week end doing things I wouldn't have particularly cared to do (even Grandma went to see Thor last night). I felt a pang of guilt when they left but I quickly let that go. It sounds like they've had a great time. And soon enough they will be home and I will once again embrace the chaos of my family.

Happy Mothers' Day!

my kids are alright

I had a dream a few nights ago.

My kids were in a giant flash mob, dancing their hearts out, surrounded by dozens of other kids and adults. They were exuberant and focused, their movements fluid and in synch with those around them. My heart swelled with pride and joy.

I learned that the flash mob had been created to drum up excitement over an upcoming performance. In a couple of hours, my kids would go on stage and perform. I could tell they were ready.

Then I was handed a note. My own performance was scheduled for right after theirs. I was wholly unprepared. I hadn't even looked at my script. I was rushing off to find it when my alarm went off.

Sacha was in a play very recently. And they did organize a flash mob a week before the performance, as a form of advertisement. And Sacha performed beautifully. My heart did swell with pride.

In part, my subconscious might have been remembering the play but I choose to believe that I was also sending myself a message.

Life with metastatic breast cancer is filled with uncertainty. But no matter what happens, my kids will be fine. They are smart, talented, resourceful and resillient. They have friends and family who love them. My kids will be alright.

vote early, vote often

I watched last night's English language election debate with interest. I was shocked at how quickly the two hours passed, although this was greatly aided by the fact that I wrote and read a steady stream of commentary on Twitter and Facebook (sorry to my followers and friends who don't give a damn about the Canadian federal election!). It helped me to keep watching without blowing a gasket. I felt like I was at a bar with friends hooting and hollering, except that I was in my basement drinking tea with my son and my spouse (another advantage to Tweeting during the debate was that I had to keep looking down at my Blackberry. This kept the orange decor from searing my retinas and Harper's cold eyes from turning me to stone).

I thought that all the opposition party leaders did well. Duceppe delivered the best opening line ("Congratulations, Mr. Harper, for answering your first question from a citizen during this election campaign.") but petered off  towards the end. It's got to be brutal doing a two-hour debate in one's second language. By and large, I find it a pity that the Bloc only speaks for Quebec, as they are so consistenly solid on most social issues. They lose me, however, when it comes to questions of immigration and multi-culturalism. Nationalism and multiculturalism don't go so well together.

Layton was calm and measured and many people with whom I've spoken found his performance to be much stronger than in previous debates. Personally, I would have liked him to be a bit more aggressive, as he left it to Ignatieff to drive home the points that are near and dear to my heart. Kudos to him for mentioning proportional representation and for this seriously funny (but cheap) line: "I don't know why we need more prisons when the crooks seem so happy in the Senate."

I thought the evening, however, belonged to Ignatieff. He stayed on message (although I found "You shut down what you can't control" to be more effective the first time he said it than the tenth) and was forceful and articulate. He hit all the right notes on all the key issues and challenged Harper on gun control, immigration, crime, health care and transparency. He looked positively Prime Ministerial (my favourite Iggy line of the night, "This isn't bickering Mr. Harper. It's democracy.")

Is any of this going to change my vote? Absolutely not. I remember when the Liberals were in power and they were singing from a different songbook then. Happily, my NDP candidate is an incumbent who has done an excellent job, locally and for the country. I'll vote for Paul Dewar and I won't even have to hold my nose.

But if I lived in a riding where the race was one between the Tories and the Liberals? I just might be voting strategically this time around.

Perhaps none of it will make a difference though. All the pundits who did wrap-up commentary last night seemed to agree that Harper had won the evening. Even my beloved Chantal Hébert was unhesitating in her praise of Harper's performance. Did Canadians watching at home feel the same way? Did undecided voters? Do any undecided voters watch the debates?

I can't recall a time when I have felt as strongly about voting. I keep reading assertions that if all eligible voters under 25 and all women voted, Harper would be out on his ass.

Let's make that happen, shall we?

optimism tested

As we were listening to yet another story on the news this morning about how the Tories and the RCMP have barred people from attending campaign events (for things like having a photo of Ignatieff on their Facebook page or having been involved in an youth environmental organization), my spouse announced "It's going to work."

I was only half way into my first coffee, so I made him repeat himself. "None of this is going to matter," he said. "It's a story for now but it won't affect the election. The Conservatives will get a majority and then, next time, the other parties will have learned that hateful advertising and ignoring the truth are the best strategies to get ahead." (Forgive me, Tim, I'm paraphrasing. That's the gist of what he said)

I fear that he's right. Even the revelations about former aid Bruce Carson have barely affected the campaign.

Perhaps politicians have always said one thing and done another. These days, though, they barely have to pretend otherwise. And some, like Rob Ford in Toronto don't pretend at all. He's thoroughly corrupt, rude and uninformed. And people love it.

And then I learned that Bradley Manning, the 22-year-old U.S. Army Private accused of leaking classified documents to WikiLeaks has been subjected to torture in prison (Avaaz.org has a petition, if you want to add your name), despite the fact that he has never been convicted of any crime (not that conviction would justify torture).

So the message, boys and girls, is as follows. Telling the truth could lead to severe punishment but stealing and lying can only get you ahead.

It's enough to make any thoughtful person feel like ranting. Although I could never do it as well as Keith Olbermann.

Or Rick Mercer.

And please, if, like me, your sickened by corruption and lies and if you believe that a democratic government is a transparent one, please get yourself to the polls on May 2.

how i fill my days (for better or worse)

where i've been

Update: I've decided that my habit of using initials instead of names makes some sentences confusing and nearly unreadable. Henceforth, I will use my discretion - and mostly use names.

Hey there.

March has been a busy month for our little household. And last week was March Break. We all drove to Toronto and then our oldest, Sacha, went to visit two of his parental grandparents in Florida. It was his first flight (other than a short hop between Toronto and Ottawa) on his own (and he's now too old to be an "unaccompanied minor"). 

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It seems that I'm not so great at multi-tasking these days. I have lots of blog posts in my head but before I write them, I thought I'd catch you up on what we've been up to since my last post.

On Saturday, March 12, I ran a bunch of errands and packed for our week away. We also went shopping for new clothes that my 7 year old could wear for a theatre date with his Grandma in Toronto.

He was very pleased with this outfit. The photo doesn't do him justice.

On Sunday, March 13, we drove to Toronto. That evening, Tim and I went out for a delicious Indian meal to celebrate our 20th anniversary (we celebrate the anniversary of our first date because our wedding anniversary is September 7. At that time of year, our lives are so busy. Besides, March needs a reason to celebrate). It's hard to believe it's been that long - and we still like each other.

I started my day on Monday, March 14 by lining up outside the Toronto office of Passport Canada, since we had realized the previous Friday (at 4:30) that our son's passport had expired (I can now safely confess this, as he has been and returned to Florida and you all can know that our parental ineptitude didn't lead to tragedy). I was second in line (well before dawn) behind a woman and her two young children from Northern Ontario who had been turned away from their flight to South Carolina the previous day (the woman's MP had assured her that her son could travel to the US on an expired passport. He could not). Her name was also Laurie and her boys were also five years apart. We bonded, as we stood on the pavement outside the passport building for 90 minutes.

Once the new passport was sorted, Tim and I took our youngest to the zoo (Sacha opted to go check out the  TIFF building with his Grandma). I didn't take any pictures but we had a great time. It's a sprawling place with animals that appear to be reasonably content. At least I hope so. Daniel was ecstatic. His favourite animals were the gorillas and the bats (no photos. I was too distracted and perhaps still groggy).

On Tuesday, March 15th, Tim drove Sacha to the airport in Toronto (I was happy not to go, since I was beside myself with anxiety) and then headed back to Ottawa to work (he was extremely patient with me as I texted him every forty-five minutes for updates).

I was happily distracted by the wonderful company of my friend Andrea We went out for brunch and then spent a few hours at the Purple Purl, one of my favourite places in the world. Andrea's spouse Patchen joined us for dinner and we three had a lovely meal. I was back at my Mom-in-Law's place before my seven year old who had spent the day with Grandma and gone to both a Second City kids' show and Billy Elliott.

On Wednesday, March 16, Daniel and I took the train to Guelph, where we hooked up with some cousins and went to the Butterfly Conservatory. Despite the heat in the building (I looked with envy at the folks who'd worn shorts), we had a great time. Besides the amazing butterflies (a gorgeous blue one landed on Daniel, to his great delight) there were many kinds of birds, fish and turtles.

Daniel and his young cousin Y. had some strong mutual admiration going on.

On Thursday, March 17, was primo cousin hanging out time. Daniel loved being the oldest cousin. Five year old N. (whose two older sisters were in Florida with Sacha) seemed equally pleased to have some boy time. 

I took the boys to see Mars Needs Moms in 3D (great animation, problematic movie) and then we went to a really great park. That evening, the boys entertained each other happily over dinner out (at Swiss Chalet - the pubs were packed with partiers dressed in green) and my brother-in-law and I had the chance to converse in complete sentences (my poor sister-in-law was at home recovering from a very bad case of food poisoning. She was more of a trooper that day than I would have been in her shoes).

On Friday, March 18, we returned to Toronto and I got to spend the afternoon and evening with my dear friend Leslie. We had lunch, browsed the Distillery District, went for a big walk along the Boardwalk and then had dinner at our favourite pub over pints. Meanwhile, Grandma took Daniel up the CN Tower and for a swim at the Y.

We took the train home on Saturday, March 19. We watched far too many episodes of The Magic School Bus  but not once did Daniel say, "How much longer?" or "Are we there yet?"

It was a very good week.

The last couple of days have been focused on re-entry - catching up with friends, going to appointments and making endless lists of things to do. As of this evening, Sacha is safely home. Tomorrow we can return to routine (bring on the fights about homework and cleaning up bedrooms). Whatever form it takes, a break from routine can be a very good thing.

scoped

I once had a colleague who was a former Fleet Street journalist. I can't remember his name but I do remember a story he told over a particularly boozy dinner.

"The worst kinds of press releases," he said, "keep all the best bits for the end. That's just not how it should be done. It's like reading a news story that says 'A crowd gathered at Buckingham Palace today. There were also fire engines and ambulances. The corgies were brought out to safety. The Palace burned to the ground. The Queen is dead."

As I went on to work in communications, I kept that anecdote in mind and tried to make sure that the most important facts were kept in the lead of my news releases.

But this is not a news release and I can tell my story in way that pleases me.

I had an endoscopy yesterday.

I wasn't terribly worried when the secretary at reception couldn't find any record of me. I credit the Ativan for that. You still feel the anxiety but it's further away. Almost like it's someone else's anxiety.

She must have found me in the end, because I was called into the endoscopy unit, given an id bracelet and told to change into a robe.

The endoscopy unit at the Civic Hospital could use a facelift. The paint was peeling off the walls in the waiting room and the beds in the prep and recovery area are separated by curtains. My neighbour and I learned a lot about each others' medical histories and bowel movements.

Every nurse I spoke to was very taken aback that I should have metastatic breast cancer at my age.

Every one of the nurses was really kind.

The nurse who took my history and prepped me for the anesthetic noted my "crappy veins" but she got the vein accessed in one poke, so major kudos to her.

My bed was eventually wheeled into the room where the procedure would be done. At this point, I met Dr. A. for the first time. There was another doctor with him who introduced himself so quickly that I didn't catch his name. This second doctor, who I assume was a resident (why don't they introduce themselves as such? Residents always say, "I work with Dr. So and So." They never say "I am learning from Dr. So and So. Do they think the patients can't be trusted with this information? This really bugs me because I can always tell they are residents and I would be much more forgiving if they were honest with me) began to very rapidly list off all the horrendous risks of the procedure and then handed me a waver to sign. 

It's a good thing that I had done tons of my own research (and that I had taken the Ativan) because I might have demanded that they wheel me out of there.

Dr. A. asked me if I had signed the waiver and if I had any questions. I said, "I just want to get this over with."

I mentioned my strong gag reflex to Dr. Resident. He instructed the nurse (pompously? Am I being biased?) to give me some extra shots of the anesthetic spray for my throat (I had the distinct impression that the nurse was going to do this anyway but perhaps I am biased). Then they hooked me up to the drip, placed a plastic frame with a hole in it in my mouth and shoved a tube down my throat.

I then proceeded to gag, choke and gasp for breath. Tears streamed down my face. 

I'll never forget the nurse who gently held my head and spoke comfortingly to me.

It's amazing how big the endoscopy tube looked to me. There's no way it could have  been that big in real life.

I heard Dr. A. say something about how studies had shown that the gag reflex was greatly diminished when Fentanyl is administered.

I heard Dr. Resident sound surprised.

A nurse administered Fentanyl via my IV. And then I was really, really stoned (I just read that Fentanyl is 100 times more potent than morphine and I had a cocktail with other sedatives).

Not sure if I passed out or not but I was pretty woozy. I know they called T. to come and get me. And I know that one of the nurses suggested I try and get dressed.

I sat up and nearly puked. The nurse got me to lie back down again.

Lather, rinse and repeat a few times.

One of the nurses gave me some apple juice, which helped.

I asked what drugs I had been given. A nurse looked that up and said with surprise that I had been given a drug in the Valium family and Fentanyl. She said, "No wonder you're so wasted."

I heard someone mention Gravol (known as Dramamine in the US). I now understand why they give it to me each time they give me Demerol at the cancer centre. They gave me a barf bag.

I texted T. to see why he still hadn't arrived. He texted back that he was in the waiting room. I told him to come get me. He said that the secretary wouldn't let him past the waiting room.

If he wasn't allowed past the waiting room and I wasn't allowed to leave without him (nor could I walk on my own), we were kind of stuck.

One of the nurses went to get him.

Before I left, Dr. A. came to talk to me. He said that I am to come to his office in around four weeks, at which time I will get my results. He also told me that there were no visible tumours (see what I mean about burying the good stuff under a whole pile of details?).

I went home and slept for 6 and a half hours. It would have been longer if T. hadn't come into the room to check on me. I was pretty dopey all evening (giving all my online Scrabble opponents an unfair advantage) and hit the hay before 10.

My throat hurts today and I'm still kind of tired but I did get out for a run (it's 10C here today that's 50F), so I guess I'm recovering pretty well.

In a months time, I'll find out if the biopsies revealed any pre-cancerous cells. Or if I have celiac disease. And Dr. A. promised that if they don't find anyting, he's going to want to do a colonoscopy.

What fun.

feeling better

Because I've been able to go out for walks and for runs with the dog.

Because I had a really nice weekend and a very nice Valentine's Day (especially for someone who doesn't really celebrate it).

Because I have so many wonderful people in my life.

Because some of my symptoms have improved considerably (and they most definitely did not improve at all before I was diagnosed with the recurrence of cancer).

Because I have survived experiences that have been far more physically traumatic (like giving birth. Twice) than an endoscopy could possibly be.

I am feeling better today.

cluck, cluck.

The following things have occurred in my recent past. My spouse has moved his office to our house and I have acquired a smart phone and the knowledge/ability to send text messages.

 Now that we are in the same house all day, it's possible that we actually speak less. He works in the attic and when I want to talk to him, instead of picking up the phone to call him, as I used to, I'm more apt to send a text (I'm late to the texting party, I know but I'm making up for lost time with a vengeance).

The following conversation took place this morning, via text message (the blog post in question is the one directly below about last night's dream):

Me: "Can you proof my blog?"

T.: "Sure."

Me: "Thanks!"

T. (a few minutes later): "No typos, that I could see. Just weirdness."

Me: "Do you want to have me committed?"

T.: "Hardly. We need the eggs."

Me: "I don't understand."

T.: "Old joke about a man who thought he was a chicken."

Me: "SNORT."

riddle me this

I had a very vivid dream last night.

Perhaps you can help me understand it.

I was a participant in a "So You Think You Can Dance" type show and it was time for three "girls" (I know I am long past girlhood but that's how it was worded in my dream) to be voted off by the other contestants.

When it came time for the results to be read, I felt absolutely relaxed. I was very confident that I would not be cut - and yet my name was the second one read out. I was voted off the show.

While I was surprised at this, my disappointment was fleeting and almost immediately replaced by relief. Euphoria even. I wondered to myself if I'd been voted off because I was viewed as a threat but mostly I was just happy to get the hell out of there.

All of this had taken place in a doctor's office waiting room and the three of us who had been ousted were expected to leave right away. 

But it was winter and I had lots of gear to put on and then I couldn't find my mittens (this kind of thing happens to me in dreams a lot). I checked in the closet, under chairs and then finally in the bathroom. As I left, after giving up, I noticed that the show's producer (a bland, balding man with a pocket protector) was looking worried.

I quietly asked if I could help with anything and he said, "Not unless you can defuse a bomb."

To which I replied, "Well, actually I can."

When he looked skeptical, I handed him an invisible business card, which he took from me without hesitating. I told him to call the number on it to confirm that I was indeed an undercover agent.

I went to the guest room (yes, there was a guest room. It had a single bed and and a faded bed spread, carpeting and a big closet) to lie down and await the go ahead. I was visualizing defusing the bomb and mentally preparing himself.

A few minutes later, the producer came in a with a younger, heavily made up woman (as though dressed for success in a high end law firm). She was holding a set of rental car keys and said, with disgust, "The number you gave us was for a car dealership."

I was perplexed but determined to sort things out. I gestured towards the cell phone that the man was carrying and dialled the number on the car keys. The phone rang a couple of times and then an automated female voice said, "You are being connected to Leila."

The call was forwarded to Leila's voice mail and I said, "Leila it's Juno. I'm at the studio and there's a bomb here that needs defusing. I need you to get in touch and give the OK."

And then my alarm went off (in real life) and I woke up, very disappointed that I didn't get to defuse the bomb.

I told T. about the dream. He agreed that it was pretty weird. I instructed him to call me Juno all day today.

Armchair psychologists: I leave it to you. What the heck did this dream mean? What am I trying to tell myself?

up to my eyeballs in print: my best of 2010

I read a lot of books last year. Seventy-one books, to be precise. And some of them were really big.

These are my favourites. These ten are the ones I think you should read, too.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel - winner of last year's Man Booker award. I found it slow going at first and then was completely swept up in the life of Thomas Cromwell and the intrigues of life in the court of King Henry the VIII. It's made me want to read a lot more about Henry and the folks who advised and served him.

An Abundance Of Katherines by John Green- my twelve year old rediscovered reading when he found John Green and he begged me to read this book. I reluctantly agreed, not having read much young adult ficiton (or YA, as the kids call it) and then went on to devour this novel and almost everything else this author has written.

Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan - the authors alternate the chapters in this book. The title refers to two high school students (one straight, one gay) named Will Grayson. The real star of the book, however, is a gay football player named Tiny who writes and directs a musical of his life story. I loved everything about this book.

The Erotic Engine: How Pornography has Powered Mass Communication, from Gutenberg to Google

by Patchen Barss - This work of non-fiction puts forward the theory that, from the beginning of humanity, pornography has driven technological change. The argument is very persuasively made but it was the author's writing that really captured me. I am not particularly interested in technology and not really interested in porn but I could not put this book down. I kept going back to re-read turns of phrase and often found myself laughing out loud. Several folks got this one for Christmas and I'm not done giving it away.

Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen - This book has been out for a while but I read it with my book club this year. It was kind of a boring meeting because no one had anything critical to say about this beautiful story, told very well. I now want to read everything else the author has written.

Villa Triste by Lucretia Grindle - With a name like that, how could she not become a writer? This book is part murder mystery, part historical novel. I fell in love with the characters in this book and could not stop thinking about them when I had to put the  book down. Set in Italy during the second world war, the book tells the story of several women involved in the Resistance movement, whether by choice or out of necessity.

The Princess of Burundi: A Mystery by Kjell Eriksson - Steig Larsson was not the only Swedish writer. This book had been on my shelf for a few years and I'm not sure why I waited to read it. Darkly funny with a smart mystery and flawed, likeable characters this book held my interest from the very first page. Be warned, the book has little to do with Burundi and quite a bit to do with tropical fish.

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger - Last summer, I finally found out what the fuss was about. I read this book on holiday, reading during quiet moments and listening to the audiobook when I was out for walks with my dog. It really is a beautiful love story that, in my opinion, never descends to the realm of the schmaltzy. And it stayed with me, which is impressive, given how quicly I read it.

The Devil's Company: A Novel by David Liss - Another brilliant, well-researched historical mystery from David Liss. I love the roguish Benjamin Weaver and the intelligent humour of all these novels. You could go back and start with A Conspiracy of Paper,the first Weaver novel but it really doesn't matter.

This year my goal is to read seventy-two novels (I don't watch a lot of television) and, since reading around here is a family affair, toying with the idea of a family book blog.

What do you say?

happy new year!

In 2010, I:

Made soup.

Started running again and kept at it (in fact, I did the Resolution Run 5K last night before breaking into the wine and fondue).

Started editing my novel. It doesn't really have an ending yet but I don't totally hate what I've written, so that's a start.

Found a writing buddy.

Knit a lot of dish cloths.

Played lots of Scrabble/Lexulous

Had my heartbroken when my dog died.

Went to Florida in the in the summer to get away from a heat wave.

Spent some quality time with girlfriends.

Organized a team for the Run for the Cure, called No Pink for Profit. By run day, we were more than 40 women and we raised more than $20,000.

Fell in love with Twitter.

Finally got a smart phone.

Learned that grief is not a linear process.

Spent a lot of time thinking about community, friends and family. I am very, very lucky.

For 2011, I wish us all love, peace, good health and many wonderful adventures.

but i have an excuse (actually i have a few)

I bailed on National Novel Writing Month on the first day, having written just under 700 words.

I felt like there were too many other interesting bits of writing that I wanted to do, including continuing to edit last year's novel.

And then my life became insane. I've been really hard on myself for all the things I'm not doing lately. This week, though, I've had two people who are very important to me (my coach/therapist and my friend DM) listen to me unload and then tell me that I would have every right to feel overwhelmed with a fraction of what I've got on my plate.

I tend to be hard on myself because I don't work outside the home right now. If I don't go to a job I feel like I should just sail through my other commitments. It felt really good to list everything going on in my life and have two women I respect offer support and sympathy. I've decided that I need to cut myself a lot more slack.

I can do NaNoWriMo next year. I'm OK with that. But I did feel a pang when my son sent me this video:



NaNoWriMo was a fun kind of crazy. I just couldn't let the rest of my life go to do it this year.

makeover day

We arrived at the studio very early.

The anticipation was far worse than the experience of being on camera, which went pretty smoothly. And I didn't fall down!

The Fab Four with Tony from L'Elégance Hair (Tony gave us hours of his time - all day Monday and early Wednesday morning - taking great care with our colour and cuts. This lovely man is an artist. You should all go to St. Laurent Centre and get him to do your hair).

My favourite interviewer.

Blogging on the fly today (more pics and words about all of this soon) but I didn't want to let another day go by without acknowledging those who made this possible.

My friends AB for nominating me, SS for coming on Monday and MR for getting up early and joining my family at the studio.

My man and my boys (all photos courtesy of SKW) for the nomination, for getting up early to come to the studio and cheering every step of the way (and for saying that I was beautiful BEFORE I had the makeover).

The staff at Laura, Town Shoes, and L'Elégance Hair Salon.

Tasha and Renée from the St. Laurent Centre for the styling and the support.

To the lovely and talented woman who did all of our makeup on Wednesday morning (her name is escaping me. If you know it, please let me know so I can credit her).

And most of all, to Bernice from the St. Laurent Centre and Beth from the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation. These women are dynamos who combine talent and determination with an enormous amount of compassion and kindness.

And finally, I need to mention Paula, JL and Tanya - the women with whom I went through this experience. The love, support and joy that each felt for each other and for me is impossible to express in words. Thanks so much for being so beautiful. I really do love each one of you.

It must be mentioned that this was all in aid of the Courage Campaign of the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation. The Foundation is building a Wellspring Centre that will provide "emotional, psychological and educational support, free of charge, to individuals and families living with cancer." As a an ongoing cancer patient, I can tell you that this the kind of thing that Ottawa needs desperately, to go along with the cutting edge medical care from which we all benefit.

It's not too late to make a donation! (The St. Laurent Centre, in addition to funding the makeovers, donated an additional $10,000 to the campaign. I know where I'm doing my Xmas shopping this year).

makeover show tomorrow

For those in the Ottawa area, my makeover will be televised on the A Channel tomorrow morning. My segments will air tomorrow morning at 9:13, 9:35 and 9:48.







Yesterday, I shopped and had my hair done. Tune in tomorrow for the big "reveal." Look at my smile in this pic. I was very spoiled and surrounded by amazingly caring people all day. I was overwhelmed by the kindness and enthusiasm of everyone I met, including the other three women who joined me in this adventure.

Thanks so much to the St. Laurent Centre and the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation for making this happen, to T. and AB for nominating me and to SS for coming with me for moral support (and taking all these great photos).

making an adventure

photo: M. Slavitch

Early Thursday afternoon, as I woke up from a nap (I'd been sleeping off the toxins of chemo), my spouse came down from his attic office with an odd look on his face.

"Are you ready for some news?"

"Is it good news or bad news?" I said, attempting wake up.

"Good news, I think." He was giggling and looked a little stunned.

"Remember when you asked me to nominate you for a makeover at St, Laurent Shopping Centre?"

My eyes widened.

"You're in!"

They he told me that I needed to go to the mall for shopping and consultation and then, on Wednesday, I would be going to /A\ Channel to be made over on the air.

In case you missed that last bit, I'll repeat that this is a TELEVISED MAKEOVER.

"There's more," Tim added as I sat opening and closing my mouth like a fish. "It's a holiday makeover. You know, so that you can be ready for all the holiday parties you go to."

I do not go to any holiday parties where I can't wear jeans and a t-shirt. In fact, that's the smartest thing to wear to most holiday parties I might possibly attend.

"She actually used the word 'sparkly'." My dear spouse was by this point, enjoying himself. "And you have to decide today."

When I read on Twitter that St. Laurent was asking for nominations for cancer survivor makeovers, I impulsively asked T. to submit my name. I was confident that I wouldn't be chosen because I figured they'd want someone who looked more like a cancer patient. And if I were chosen I thought I'd just go to the mall, get made over and then have some pictures taken for their web site.

But I did get chosen. And when I went on Twitter and Facebook and asked my peeps what I should do, the answer was unanimous - "Go for it!"

So I'm going for it.

This is all being organized by the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation and I do want to help draw attention to the good work that they do.

The St. Laurent Centre has some really great stores and I could end up with some great new gear and a fresh new look.

I could use the lift. It is easy to feel frumpy when you're out of the work force and pinching pennies. And chemo does take a physical as well as emotional toll.

And it could be fun.

So I've decided to approach this with an open mind and a spirit of adventure.

I'll let you know how it goes.

when the doorbell rang (part 1)

It's 3:00 am and about half an hour ago, my doorbell rang.

At least I think it did, but my spouse thinks I was dreaming. I remember that I was dreaming but about eating pastries while being handed a wad of twenty dollar bills. Who interrupts a dream about eating pastries and getting free money by dreaming the door bell? Some kind of Freudian diet police?

My reaction to the doorbell ringing was swift. I woke up my husband.

And then I lay there all cozy and warm in our bed while he went downstairs to investigate. I even muttered (somewhat sheepishly), "Be careful."

It was like something from one of the sitcoms I watched when I was growing up. Except that by then it was the seventies and eighties and in the sitcoms the wives would tiptoe downstairs behind their husbands.

And the men would usually be clutching a baseball bat.

We don't keep a baseball bat by the bed. We don't even own a baseball bat. The only thing close at hand that would be the approximate size and weight one could swing at an evildoer would be the dog. Who, incidentally, wasn't barking. I suppose one could take that as further evidence that I was dreaming.

So T. went downstairs and checked the front and back doors. There was no one there.

I think that whoever it was ran away. T., as I said before, thinks I dreamed it.

Fortunately, my dear spouse fell back asleep almost immediately. He's snoring now, as I type this, wide awake. Some kind of karmic justice?

The thing is our doorbell did ring, at around this time, last Saturday night when I was out of town. It was also the night before Hallowe'en, which at least in the telling, makes it creepier. But that's a story for another blog post.

Maybe now that I've confessed, I'll be permitted to return to dreamland.