Why fine is not enough

Tell me more

Well, recently on the Myeloproliferative Neoplasms (MPN) support site that I reference here and there for my blood cancer, polycythemia vera, there was an article titled "Why Fine is not enough". This brought up loads of thoughts into my mind correlating with things that have been happening lately. Sometimes, when I ask David how he’s doing, he will answer with, "I’m fine". And I find myself doing the same occasionally although I'm not a big fan of the word 'fine', but here and there I throw it out in the world.

I find that when people come over to the farm to see us and maybe haven’t seen us in a while, they say (surprisingly) things like: you to look great! David and I both understand this is code for 'you look good for having cancer'. And I think this happens because people are never sure what cancer looks like. The world, the media, everything shows us that cancer looks horrible and terrible on people. It is horrible and terrible. But it’s not horrible and terrible all the time. We look alright until we were are not. Unfortunately, there's not a language for people to talk to people with cancer or other precarious conditions, It's awkward. Therefore, David will answer with "I'm Fine" more often than not. I'm fine, he says and saves the person asking from the uncomfortableness that comes with a cancer conversation. 

Love this site

I value the idea that we can strive to be better than simply fine - in all aspects of life. And this article talks about how fine is not enough for those with polycythemia vera, essential thrombocythemia and myelofibrosis, which are the the three MPN blood cancers. Why is fine not enough? The article goes on to suggest that MPN patients should take an active role in our journey by speaking up and seeking the support we need for our symptoms, our feelings and our health care because #fineisnotenough. It's easy to bounce along thinking we should lay low and be the "good" cancer patient who stays in their box. So it is a wonderful reminder to not stay caged in the notion that fine is fine enough, and instead - speak up. Say what you need. See after a girl. You, you're the girl. See after yourself.

So as you likely know, polycythemia vera is a cancer that is progressive, meaning that it can change and get worse with time. It's important for PV patients to recognize how it affects our quality of life. Just like with any disease or illness, if we step up and speak our truth, we can be our best advocate and not just be fine with how things are. I know, fine is easy though. But fine keeps us trapped. 

Fine is the word we use as an all encompassing generality of shutting down conversations that could be so much more. Fine = I’m good for now, let’s move on. Fine = I’m not sure this person is up to hearing the unfortunate details, they just want to know how I am overall. Fine = Not wanting to consume someone’s time to really explain how we’re doing behind closed doors. Fine is part of our conditioning that we learn in life of what to say when we’re deciding that summing up our life is what we need to do in that moment. I’m fine. But there are people who know we are not fine. There are many things behind closed doors that happen after cancer treatment. Chemotherapy and radiation are not your friend and present you often times with long lasting ramifications that cancer patients have to live with. It ages you. It makes you realize how vulnerable we are. 'I'm fine' covers up all the hard, big feelings we feel and protects others from them. This applies to everything, not just cancer. I'm fine, thank you. Now, onto something else. What I'm doing in the moment is minimizing the situation and choosing to keep my amour on and not allow myself to be vulnerable, because being vulnerable is hard. Some even see it as weakness. I see it as a likely chance that I could 1) cry or 2) show myself just a little too much to someone else. I'm still working on this, and will die working on this. Being vulnerable as a child was not encouraged. I always wore my amour and rarely took it off growing up. But look at me now, I'm trying to try to be vulnerable. Trying to try is where I'm at on it. Technically this blog could be a good example of this. Even though I just thought I should erase this whole blog so far and start over. I won't.

I feel like when I say 'I'm fine', it's like the very tip top of a very pointed sharpened pencil. Now that's fine. There’s nothing much else to that pencil point except that it’s really fine, so newly sharpened and drawing such a thin and nice feathery line. That really doesn't illustrate my life well. My life is not fine as a sharpened pencil so precise and clean-cut. So how can I say I'm fine when I'm not, but sometimes I do. So I think I might say I’m fine to shut down conversation about a particular topic, especially cancer. Why? Maybe because sometimes (not all the time) people might not think that the ones asking really want to know how we are - but maybe what they’re really asking is are you okay? That would be an easier question to answer. Yes, I am okay, thank you for asking. I’m not fine, but I am certainly making it in this world. I mean, sometimes I'm fine. I’m not sure of the exact differentiation of: I’m okay vs I’m fine. But okay seems more broad and fine seems much more specific. Kind of like the sharpie marker tip versus the sharpened pointy pencil tip. Two different tips used for different purposes. David prefers: I'm fine. I prefer: I'm okay. He, the pencil, I, the sharpie marker. 

The tricky thing is that people aren't usually buying 'I'm Fine' when David says he's fine. So they ask me. And then I tell them how he's doing. Sometimes, we are un-fine. And what I know for sure is, fine is rarely fine. 

Have fun little 1

It was the most beautiful Saturday morning recently, whereby the birds were singing and the sky was as blue as Brooks' eyes. Lauren, Ryan and Birthday Boy Brooks would be arriving to our house shortly and the celebration would begin. In the past year, with covid, the art of having a baby surrounded by family was stolen from all new moms. Covid has stolen many life experiences from many people. 

Happiest day of her life, yet we were 
not able to be there at that special moment.

Covid stole all the birthings, weddings and funerals plus everything else. Yet, on this Saturday a year later, we would be making up for lost time. For the last year, as everyone in the world tried to stay safe and stay away from each other, we are now taking time to get together and celebrate not only Brooks 1 year old birthday, but also a couple of family member's birthdays. Savannah would be turning 7 years old and Caroline would be turning 14 years old. Although Caroline was sick and not able to attend the party, she was with us in spirit. Savannah and her brother, Declan were kind enough to open Brooks gifts for him. There would be food, love, hugs, and the coming together to be with one another on this most beautiful day. 

The joy of being 1 year old

As tradition holds for 1 year olds to have cake free-form, Brooks did just that. He was unsure in some respects of what this sticky, sugary, round, brown, tasty treat in front of him was. And so it began. The best part of a 1 year old birthday party is watching a precious child eat cake. 

But mom says I can't have sugar

Then, in accordance with the rules of sugar, he crashed and it was nap time. Don't we all want to nap after a big piece of cake. The adults all caught up on the life happenings of each other while Brooks slept, and we all anxiously awaited his awakening to watch the present opening ceremony next. Savannah and Declan did a great job of opening all his gifts - thank you!

Birthday boy investigating his new things

And after a year has passed in the Life of Brooks, we were all able to come together as a family and be 1. He was 1 and we were all one with each other. Certainly, a day to remember. Well, maybe not for the birthday boy, but we will remember for him, and one day tell him about all the love and support at this gathering and what it meant to us all. Happy Birthday Sweet Boy. You are loved. 💙 

Nocturnal Mayhem

One thing I often overlook in my blog is: what happens when we sleep. Besides a gazillon trains that go by in the night, other creatures do as well. Bobcats, coyotes, skunks, opossums and raccoons to name a few who desire nothing more than to help themself to a farm animal for a snack. In particular, our farm animals. Fortunately for us, when we moved to our property over 5 years ago now, the prior owners left 2 great pyrenees dogs (livestock guard dogs) brother/sister duo: Levi and Whisper. They also left 3 donkeys here as well. Granted, we were informed of this information prior and it was not a complete surprise, but understanding them and what they do was a definite learning curve. 

We quickly learned that these dogs were not well socialized, but instead, nocturnal livestock guard dogs that would one day keep our farm animals alive. Every night. And with time, David and I begin to add farm animals like we were on an expedition to create a petting zoo. No, we didn't realize it in the moment, but turns out we have a petting zoo. 2 mini horses, 5 sheep, 2 piggies, 2 turkeys (kinda sounds like an ark instead of a zoo) 6 dogs, 6 barn cats, 7 ducks and 60-ish chickens. And what I really want to tell you is that they are all alive because of Levi and Whisper. Every night without fail, all night long, those two faithful and loyal guard dogs make sure nothing crosses the parameter of our property - and if a predator dares to do so - is killed. Period. The End. 

That seems so unfair, right? No. Life is not fair, you silly coyotes. Or you stinky skunks. Or you opossum who thinks you can just show up and eat dinner uninvited. Levi and Whisper instinctually guard, protect and serve all who live in the pasture and barns. There are no exceptions. Therefore, they rest during the day, and people often comment about their idle daytime activities. Yet, since no one is here at night to watch their skill and dedication besides us, it's hard to understand how much work Levi and Whisper do each and every night. 

It took Levi time to realize Maybe was 
not a skunk. She could not go out in the 
pasture for a full year. 

Each morning that I come out to the barn to feed, I thank our guard dogs. Thank you, Levi and Whisper, for all you did last night. Here's a wonderful breakfast. And when dinnertime comes along, they get a good dinner to be ready for their night. The nocturnal predators are bountiful and relentless, as the outdoor world comes alive when the indoor world goes to sleep. 

So where I was going with this initially was that there's no telling what you'll find when night turns to day, when darkness turns to light, and when one world quiets and another awakens. What do I find in my half sleep state in the morning when I rise and shine? Well, this morning it was a gift from the barn cats of a half eaten bird and a bonus dead mouse in my laundry room (thanks to a doggie door that allows them in there). Feathers everywhere, blood strewn like a crime scene on the tile floor and barn cats waiting to be congratulated. I in my jammies, and eyes half open say something to myself like "crappity" or "son of a monkey" or likely something I shouldn't type here. This fun never stops. Where's David. 

My favorite part is when I go to work in the dark at an early ungaudly hour and come home to find a dead something-something in the pasture from the night, all bloated up like a balloon during the day until I find it. 

I told it to go home when I saw it in the garage.
 But no.

Turns out, that possum was possibly the same one helping it self to the cat food in the garage and didn't make it off the property alive. 

That nose.

What's funny is I'll ask David, "Hey, did you see that dead fill-in-the-blank in the pasture this morning?" because he goes to work when it's light outside. He denies seeing anything. Uh huh. 

Or the fact David can clean up the entire barn and not see the chicken who has passed away during the night from old age (we have several old girlz on their last chicken life). Somehow, he has a radar that does not see dead animals. 

So, I tend to make alot of trips to places I'll leave undisclosed to deliver a deceased animal for other circle-of-life predators to have. Sounds odd, I know. But there's not exactly a dead animal disposal handy out here. Most all animals who have passed away for whatever reason are a food source to another wild animal. It's the nature of life out here. Each trip I make like this has Maybe and Sugar looking like this:

There is joy in the journey

This is an actual photo of them with me during my last "drop off" (see above referenced possum). It's not all fun and games out here. Dirty deeds are part of the experience. Maybe and Sugar don't ask questions. They just get in the car and ride. 

But wait, not all mayhem on the farm happens at night.

You see, animals are always getting out of the spaces they are supposed to be in. It's the way of the farm animal world. There's no getting around it. You will forget to lock that gate, shut that gate or fix that fence. You will think you shut that gate and you did not. You will blame it on your spouse. And then the horses are knocking over all the chicken food feeders and feed bins and not sorry about it. And then you arrive home from work another day and find the sheep in the front yard eating every leaf off your shrubs and the hibachis plants on the front porch. More than once, mind you. It's just fricken mayhem out here. My only condolence is when I talk to other farm people about this phenomenon and realize I. Am. Not. Alone. It comes with the territory. So I find my can of Suck It Up and call it a day. They don’t call me the $hit Show Supervisor for nothing. 

Some personal discoveries

If you use the same dishes for the farm animals and yourself

You might be a farmer

If you potty outside almost as much as inside

You might be a farmer

If you reuse hay string to tie things down on your truck

You might be a farmer

If you never put a speck of table scraps or food in the trash

You might be a farmer

If you love metal buildings on your property

You might be a farmer

If you take other people's left over food at a restaurant home for your farm animals

You might be a farmer

If you have more than 2 pair of overalls

You might be a farmer

If you drive dead animals to unknown places

You might be a farmer

If you watch the weather and run to the barn to button everything down

You might be a farmer

If you think your pretending to be a farmer

You are a farmer

I'm not convinced that the word farmer is what I would categorize myself as, but since I've not figured out a more suitable word, I'll stick with it. I'm just a girl, who loves farm things, wishing she could have all the farm animals. 

Until next time,

Cyndi 

Wait, one more thing before I go. I just remembered this whole possum thing has a bright spot. Since the possum was in the garage, I had an irrational fear that it might decide to live in the Christmas tree box in the garage. It might dig in there with it's sharp pointy claws and just live with my Christmas tree in the garage and get it all stinky and gross. So, I made the executive decision to bring in the Christmas tree early. And now we have a Fall Tree. I may never put this tree back out in the garage. What's after Christmas? Valentine's Day? Easter? What about a birthday tree? See, it's not all bad to have a possum in your garage.......

I mean, why not

Turkey Trot

 

Cluckingham Update

It was a gray-skied Friday afternoon, whereby the hazy clouds had tempted us with rain all day and never delivered. It was in the late afternoon that I had arrived home from seemingly running miles in the operating room when I received a text from Amy, a fellow farm lady herself. Amy, if you recall is my pig influencer. So it seems she had been given three turkeys from someone who did not want them and herself decided the turkey life was not for her either. She’s asking if I wanted them and when I could come get them. Translation: Please come get them. Ironically, David had been pining over some turkeys recently and now he very well could be blessed with some of his very own. 

Time for a Turkey Run. It was now after dark on Friday night that we loaded up a big crate and head over to Amy and Cody‘s farm in Anna. We were to pick up Paul, a male turkey along with Stella and Bella, two female turkeys. The late night turkey run to Anna would bless us with three turkeys for David. It was dark and hard to tell what we were getting ourselves into - which happens to be the theme of our whole life.

No, we’ve never had turkeys and have no idea what their needs are but as usual we will figure it out. Back home jiggity jig. As we carried the big crate with three turkeys into the barn, David at one end of the crate and I at the other, the anticipation of what was about to happen moved over us like a rushing wave of uncertainty. These creatures are big and kind of scary, truly like medium-sized dinosaurs. Their claws were the size of my own fingernails except more elegant and shaped nicely as if they've been to the nail salon. Paul, the male turkey is black with some white/multicolored feathers and significantly larger than his haram. David and I set the crate down on the floor of the barn and look at each other. Now what. All the chickens are roosting quietly for the night in the barn and the wind is low and it’s the sweet spot of the night, before the predators come out and our livestock guard dogs, Levi and Whisper start their long night of barking and patrolling the perimeter. David and I review our options: 1) leave the turkeys in the crate until the morning or 2) let the 3 turkeys out to roost with everyone else in the barn. We pick option two for no particular reason and as soon as David opens the crate, Stella and Bella hop out and in a blink of an eye immediately fly to the top steel beam of the barn and in the second blink they are on a beam ready to roost for the night. 

Had they already picked their spots out?

What the what just happened. I looked down and Paul is standing still one step out of the crate just like a statue at the wax museum. Then, in the next blink of my eye, Paul takes flight and arrives on top of the coop knocking all the chickens off their roosting spots just like a bowling ball making a strike. The chickens stumble and fall from the coop roof top and wonder what missile just struck them. Paul settles in up there like nothing just happened with only a couple of the chickens who were able to keep their balance during the missile strike. He looked around and must have thought: Perfect, I’ll sleep right here. All while my other chickens struggle to get back up to their spots. Once everyone was settled again, Paul was very satisfied with his place, snuggled in tight with the chickens, all while Stella and Bella are high up in the rafters on a steel beam roosting for the night there. 

Vultures or turkeys. You decide. 

Night night. 

Fast forward to a cool Saturday morning and three new-to-us turkeys are roaming in and around the barn. Meanwhile, David is gone to the Texas/TCU football game and I’m doing things in the barn so I can keep an eye on the turkeys. My main goal is to see how the new turkeys do with the chickens. Turns out, Paul is great!

Paul, without his feathers all puffed out.

Paul is very laid-back and doesn’t even hang around the female turkeys much. But Bella and Stella have plans, as usual. They are busy chasing the chickens, scaring them, trying to fight them and ultimately attempt to get all the chickens out of the barn so that they can have it all to themselves. In particular, the dust bathe area with the mirror. 

No, this is not going to work. Amy had told me the female turkeys picked on her chickens and now they are doing the same with ours. Did I mention Paul is great?  Saturday morning turns to lunchtime, then to dinner time and it’s around this time that I happen to have a worker over to trim a tree with a big broken branch blocking our gravel road. I just 'happen' to say, Hey would you like some turkeys? Seemingly without thinking, he says Yes. Perfect, I have Stella and Bella needing a home as they can’t stay due to their aggression towards the chickens. Paul can stay as he’s not hurting anyone. So, turns out after our worker trims the tree and gets that all fixed up, he will take the broken limbs away and come back with a crate. And he does immediately. Bella and Stella are easily caught and are now heading to their next destination in life. I did ask if he’s going to eat them. He tells me no. I’m not sure if I believe him but off they go. And if this story isn't weird enough, I also asked him if he wanted some of the ducks Amy happened to give us as well (I forgot to mention she gave us 10 ducks along with the 3 turkeys). We were able to catch six of the ducks, and he takes 3 turkeys and 6 ducks and heads back to his home. He hit the Fowl jackpot on that tree trim job. But David and I really think the pond is best with a few less ducks -  and our chickens are better off without the aggressive female turkeys around. Whew what a day. 

With a more manageable duck population, we fast forward to the next day which is a glorious Sunday morning. Yet, we find Paul gobbling gobbling and nonstop gobbling. He is looking for his people turkeys. I realize quickly that I’m going to need to get him a friend and thanks to Craigslist (aka Farm Animal Trading Co) we locate him a young turkey friend who we can raise as our own and will hopefully be friendly toward our chickens. And since Sunday was spent in Fort Worth with Lauren, Ryan and sweet Brooks, the turkey run would need to wait til that evening. We had a blast in Fort Worth! 

All he really wanted was David's glasses. Success!

David and I walked little Brookie in his stroller down to the antique mall nearby and we loved every minute of our time together. Brooks had fun crawling everywhere and trying to walk and reach for all the vintage things people call antiques. I’d call it junk, but people might get offended. 

This best describes our little outing that day:

He's a antique shopper and we had no idea.

We cooked some lunch at their house, even rearranged some furniture at there too, and time sped by too fast and it was time to get back home. We kissed them goodbye and would see them again soon for Brooks upcoming 1st birthday party at the farm. 

Turkey Run #2

As we headed back to Gunter, Morning Star Heritage farm in Sadler Texas had emailed me that they had turkeys for sale (thank you Craigslist) and that we could come there that same night and pick out a young turkey. So sure enough, Sunday night we ended up going to Sadler, Texas to pick up a turkey. I know it's late, I know you're weary, but let's go anyway. It was dusk on that Sunday evening when we arrived to their farm and although hard to see them all, we were able to chose a young turkey to bring back home for Paul. Boy or girl - we don’t know yet, but either way, we are hoping Paul will be happy with his new turkey friend. 

Gabby instantly fit in with the chicken crowd.

She looks nothing like Paul, as her coloring is chocolate rather than black. But she’s a turkey whose young and we hope to raise her around the chickens and that everyone will get along. We would not know exactly how all this would go until the light of day Monday morning, and we placed the young turkey to roost beside the chickens in the barn late Sunday evening.

David named our newly purchased young turkey Gabby. Even though we don't know if she's a girl or boy, it's name is Gabby. We discovered on Monday morning that Paul loves his new friend. 

He's busy show-boating for her, and seems to enjoy her company. Gabby is wonderful, and fits in well with all the chickens. No one is bossing anyone around now. Very good. These 2 turkeys can stay. 

Paul shows off to his new friend.

They are fast friends and Paul will not quit showing off his lovely feathers all puffed out. He's making weird noises and this turkey world is something I know nothing about. What have we done.

Scoop there it is

More fowl means more poop, right? And turkey poop is no joke.

Oddly enough, just days before our turkey adventure began, I had gone to visit Colleen in Van Alstyne to see about getting a couple more silkie/frizzle mixes. Colleen is a true chicken lady who has a backyard of small breed chickens and lots of ducks. Lots and lots of ducks. BTW, I do not need anymore ducks. Just tiny chickens.

You know how much I love my little girl chickens - the frizzles, silkies and sizzles. I needed more. The nice thing is Colleen lets me pick out just the ones I want, and I picked out 3 new cuties. 

I wish I could tell you I have names for them, but not quite yet. Soon though. If you're counting, I think I hover around 60 chickens. Since I had gifted one of David's friends (Damon) 3 of my silkie/frizzle chickens, I added back these 3 little sweeties from Colleen. David's friend was starting a backyard flock of his own and we shared 3 of our small girls with him. Everyone loves a tiny chicken, right. 

New fear unlocked

When we last spoke (blogged), I was to be participating in the Augusta (GA) Ironman triathlon. And yep, with dog bite and all (i.e open wound on my arm) I decided I did not want to miss the race. I had trained for it, and all the reservations were made. I did not want to let this isolated incident get in the way of my goal.  

So I flew to Georgia late Friday evening (the weekend before all the turkey happenings) and did all the fun race things on Saturday which included picking up my race packet, picking up my bike that I had shipped there, took my bike to the transition area (for race day Sunday) and organized all my swim, bike and run things for the big race on Sunday. David had placed stickers he made all over my race things:

Sunday morning arrived and excitement was in the air. Everyone's nervous energy is contagious at a race like this. I made my way to the race start down by the Savannah River with the other 2,499 Ironman participants. We were all scited - excited and a little scared. We were about to embark into a river of who knows what and swim 1.2 miles. Then bike 56 miles in the Georgia mountains and run 13.1 miles around the city of Augusta. They fired the horn sound for the race to start, and 3 by 3 we would jump into the water off a dock every 5 seconds. Most all of us had our wetsuits on, goggles and swim caps. We would all jump into the deep water off a rocky dock, and immediately start to swim so that no one would jump in on top of us. The cold water sent a chill through my body and I had to tell myself to move my arms and legs. After all, I jumped in holding my goggles to my face so that I would not lose them while jumping into the water. Turns out, that would not the most stirring part. 

It was about 2/3 way through the participants jumping into the water that the race officials stopped the race. Odd, I thought. I was one of the participants who had not yet had my turn to get in the water to swim. Now the race is on Pause. Then, we hear the emergency vehicle. Then, we see it. The ambulance was at the water's edge not even a half mile down the river. Racers were still swimming, and then other people were doing things. Like getting a man out of the water, performing CPR on him and ultimately getting him into the ambulance. It was just out of my vision view, and I would later find out more details about it. Turns out, a male participant had a "event" that took his life during the swim portion of the race. He did not make it. I did not know this during that race and would later find out. They think he had a heart attack, although I still do not know the exact details. 

All I knew at the time was that the race went on. The race officials started letting the participants jump into the water again to swim the 1.2 miles, to then get on their bike, and then eventually run. When it was my turn, I jumped in the river off the dock and my race began. I swam the swim, and when I got out of the water and into the transition area, I changed the bandage on my arm so it would be dry for the bike. I then biked through the all the beautiful scenery that Georgia offers, and ran the miles to finish the race feeling good. I attribute my success to many things, but I knew in particular that my oncologist had helped me get there. I knew I could only do what my body would allow me to do and that is my life. I was there, I got it done and I was happy and safe. In an Ironman triathlon there are cutoffs for the swim, bike and run portions - and if you make each cutoff, you get to proceed to the next portion of the race. These cutoffs are not by age or gender, they are universal for everyone. No exceptions. I was thrilled that I didn't experience a bike crash (people did) or a flat tire. I was thrilled that I picked a steady pace of which to churn out the run. I did not want to be part of the 'walking dead" those last few miles of the race when all is lost for some. I just wanted to be steady and strong. God saw me through. 

I'm happy to report that I did not get an infection from the river water. I did not pass away in the water. And my heart goes out to the family for the racer who did not make it. It was shocking to hear of course, and I imagine that family is in complete disbelief and grief. The swim portion of the race is tough because there’s lots of people swimming in close proximity and it’s easy to panic with all the kicking of the legs and arms swinging. Plus it’s murky, deep water and it’s unfamiliar. It’s easy to feel out of control. I myself have to practice staying calm with all the chaos of it. The swim portion is where most deaths in an Ironman occur. It’s actually not unusual, sad to say. 

I felt fortunate to have made it back home safe and I feel like I made a good decision to proceed with going to the race despite the advice of many who were concerned about the dog bite on my arm and what exposure to river water would do to it. No, I didn't hit the Easy button and stay home. I really wanted to participate in the race and it was a risk, no doubt. I openly admit the risk in it. I'm so glad I went. Sometimes, hitting the Hard button is the most satisfying thing to do in the end. 

Tula Tot + Piggies = ❤️

On a different note, I wanted to share the new relationship that’s forming on the farm. It's between Tula, our Aussie and the piggies. The Odd Couple(s). They are extremely fond of each other, and I love that as Tula hasn’t found her bestie here on the farm. And the pigs are the closest thing that I see bringing her a connection that she’s been looking for. Winston is great for Tula too, but Winston is old and unable to engage like Tula desires. The fiesta piggies may be just what Tula’s been looking for 🥰

Prissy is esp smitten,
but Maggie enjoys Tula as well.

While Prissy, Maggie and Tula are a threesome that is odd, I hope they are able to become playmates over time. Tula tried hard to get them to chase her and she wants to be in their pen with them whenever possible. We’ll see how this progresses with time. 

As the farm is ever ebbing and flowing, we are excited about each new adventure we encounter. I know you're probably thinking that Thanksgiving is coming and we now have turkeys - and piggies. Luckily for everyone, David and I don't have the kind of heart that can endure eating our own animals. They will celebrate with us instead. And is this cooler weather just the best?! What that really means to us is that it's time to winterize. We will start making adjustments in the animals shelters for the cold weather to come, and make sure everyone has a warm place to sleep as Fall will turn into Winter. 

Thanks for being here with us 💕

Cyndi

Welcome to my mind

 

When my mind gets really full, sometimes sooner, it's blog time. I feel it and have this insatiable desire to write words down. In many ways, my blog looks a lot like this in my mind:

Ohmygaud, it's hard being new at a new job. Where will I park my bike at work? Try to be self-aware at work. Be there. Don't worry about everyone watching the new girl and giving their own mental eval's. Stay in my lane. Lay low. Do what you're there to do. Hope the farm is okay. What if forgot to shut the horse's gate real good each day? No more talking on the phone during the day. But who talks anymore. Texting has taken the fun out of phone calls anyway. I miss my Stage 5 Clinger doggo, Sugar while at work all day. Yes, I have always been this way with animals. I'm letting the piggies free range with the chickens. Hope that's okay. I know nothing about taking care of pigs. And now the new ducks, they are flying. None of my ducks prior have flown. And the sheep outback worry me a bit, as there's a creek behind the pasture and more predators down there. I love our new kitchen. The farm is more settled than it's ever been. David's next scan is Nov. My race is coming up. Lauren and Ryan are sick and baby Brooks isn't. I don't like being the newbie at the workplace. Can I hurry up and learn everything. Sweet Maybe isn't eating her dog food, and I think it's her teeth. Scheduled appt for teeth cleaning and eval at vet for her, after all, she's over 10 years old now. She can't just eat chicken poo all the time. My chickens. I think one is a secret rooster but does not crow. Wonder what I should do. The silkies do not want to stay in The Little Girl Area anymore, and are in the barn with the Big Girls now. Mini horse Hope is eating too much, I'll need to cut back on her food. The back deck is going to be replaced soon. I'll need to put Tula in daycare those days. I can't hear Lauren on my Apple watch when she calls on hers. Every morning I check my phone and wonder what happened in the world while I slept. And what happened on the farm while I slept. I should call Mom and Dad. I love my freedom on the farm. I love my life. I love that I'm safe, warm and have food. I'm scared for people around the world. It doesn't seem fair. It's not fair. Life is great. Life is terrible. The grass isn't growing much right now so I don't have to mow very often. When the weather is nice, there's less poo to clean up in the barn because the chickens are outside eating bugs and grass. I wonder if David will ever say he's tired of cleaning the barn. Can you believe it's almost Fall? I live in my own little bubble most of the time. It's where I feel safe. It's quiet out here. I don't want to have neighbors next door anymore. Only cows. I love the cows next door. The AC bill was higher than usual. That's odd. Winston's doing great and chasing cats less. David, want to go sit out on the front porch? Yeah, I know it's early but can we call it a night and head to bed early (again) because we can. 

This chatter stops on 3 occasions: 1) If I insist on it and give my mind no choice (intentional stopping of the thoughts in my head) as I'm learning how to be the boss of my mind, or 2) I'm out on a run and just blank out into a zone of nothingness in my mind (pure peace) or 3) I'm asleep. In Eckhardt Tolle's book, he tells us that this constant chatter is what the mind does, and if we practice, we can slow it down and even stop it. I practice that. It's amazing the power we have to have a discussion in our own mind to tell ourselves to hush our minds. I'm in the practice phase for sure. Writing helps quiet my mind and takes it out of my head and places it to the universe. I love it when I can actually isolate that I'm doing this. Only then can I decide if I need to ask myself to calm the chatter down. Cause sometimes, I just let myself rant away inside my mind intentionally. 

Do you remember, never a cloudy day

Thank you Earth, Wind, and Fire. I do remember September. It's Blood Cancer Awareness Month. As each year rolls around, I think about all the gazillion people with the so-many different types of blood cancer. If there's ever a time I feel the need to speak of my own polycythemia vera, I'm never really surprised that people haven't heard of it. And spelling it doesn't really help the people, yet would give them more information for which to google it I suppose. I mean, there's SO many rare cancers. How are people to know these things? How are they to know how it affects my daily life when I don't even know how other PV patients are affected in their own daily lives. PV is tricky that its progression is different for us all, and the lab numbers it throws at us keeps the oncologist guessing as it's a month to month thing. So let's talk about PV for a quick minute in commemoration of Blood Cancer Awareness Month. 

In my particular situation, one (of the many) important matters is keeping my iron at a level where my fatigue is controlled. There are many numbers the oncologist reviews from platelets to white blood cells to of course the hematocrit/hemoglobin and others. Well, managed is a better word. When I need to have blood taken from me (phlebotomy) due to my high hematocrit levels, it steals from other needed-things, like iron. As our biology or A&P class taught us, iron is needed to make red blood cells in a regular person. But for us PV-er's, we don't want too much iron as I'm not supposed to take iron supplements or eat foods with an abundance of iron otherwise that tells my body to make more blood. And since PV is a condition that your bone marrow is churning out TOO much blood already, there's a balance in there that the oncologist tries hard to manage. Think of it like walking on a tightrope. Leaning to one side or the other too much can produce unwanted results. I walk a tightrope monthly to stay upright trying not to fall to one side or the other. One side is extreme fatigue (and other unpleasant things) and the other side is a vascular event (think heart attack, blood clots or stroke). I've already done the stroke thing and it's kind of like touching your hand in a light socket or falling out a window - it's something you don't want to do it twice, and you don't even want to do it once. So I'm working on becoming a tightrope walker, with my oncologist in the lead. We are a team, along with all the other superhero healthcare workers involved in this process. 

What I don't always express to others is how this affects happenings in my daily life out in the world. 

Dog gone, example please

Friday, as I was minding my own business and picking Tula up from doggie day care, something happened that has never happened in my life before. I had come in the front door of the doggie day care business and started to walk up to the front desk and I never saw it coming. Another dog owner and her dog were behind me, and the big dog decided it needed to bite me. It actually bit me on my leg and my arm before she could pull the dog back. I felt it and never saw it coming. It was behind me. I was shocked - and bleeding. This big, black curly haired dog had actually finished its first day of dog training for aggression, of all things and the owner was picking the dog up. Seemingly, it did not have a good day, and decided I was going to be its tasty treat. My leg bite was superficial, but the arm bite needed attention. The staff helped put pressure on the bite site, and I ended up at an urgent care with steri-strips and antibiotics. I learned that dog bites are not often sewn up due to all the bacteria inside, so they pulled my skin back together (the best they could) except for the piece of skin the dog kept, and sealed it with steri strips, and bandaged it up. 

I could tell you that the dog owner and business were besides themselves, as something terrible happened to us all. Nobody was more shocked than me, than maybe the bystanders/customers in that same front office. They were now all huddled up against the farthest wall away, trying to stay safe themselves from this crazy big dog. But what they don't know is that I am on multiple blood thinners due to my blood cancer and therefore I was bleeding everywhere. They have no idea of this information. But it's things like this whereby my condition affects most things in my life - good and bad. Whether it's a cycling accident, dog bite, or just a scrap.....PV is the reason I should be extra careful. Yet, no one really knows this in the moment.....except me. Hence the medical bracelet I wear to alert heath professionals of this tidbit of information just in case it's needed. It may never be needed, but it's there just in case.

Let's fast forward now. When you receive treatment for a dog bite, you are required to fill out a form for Animal Control first. Then, you will be treated. No form, no treatment. I was more than happy to fill out the form and report the dog that bit me. It was first thing the very next morning that Animal Control called me to inform me they would be picking up the dog that day from the owner and quarantining it for 10 days. And after 10 days, Animal Control would call me to verify that it does/does not have rabies. Okay then. Not long after that, the doggie day care manager called and said many nice things and wanted to check on me. They/the owner will pay for everything, etc etc etc. Let's just say that my arm was sore, but yet in 1 week, I have the Augusta Ironman in Georgia and will be swimming in a dirty river for 1.2 miles. With an open wound. I'm really hoping it will be closed up enough to swim, and I'm guessing it will be. There's also lots of first aid dressing options if not. So for now, I'm still planning on participating in the triathlon. I've come this far, it's hard to think a dog bite could deter me. But I'll see how it looks as the days go by this week. Take a look at the pictures below if you'd like to see what a 90 lb dog bite looks like. 

Doubling down on ducks 

What was once the optimal duck scenario:

Huey, Duey and Luey

......has turned into a Dateline episode. On this Dateline podcast we review the details surrounding 2 of the 3 nephews of Donald Duck who show up missing in a mysterious day time drama. Huey, Duey and Luey were last seen in the early morning hours up by the barn eating their usual portion(s) of chicken feed. You see, the 3 ducks do this every morning and every evening. Keith Morrison, who sounds like he's tucked under a weighted blanket with unregulated CBD oil (thank you GQ), goes on to say that by that evening, only 1 lonely duck shows up for their evening meal. 

A day time dilemma. Was it a hungry neighbor? Was it simply a case of ducks gone rouge? Why would Huey and Duey leave behind their bestie Luey? It doesn't make sense now does it. The homeowners, David and Cyndi would lead the search party and eventually called the search off due to weather conditions. Just kidding, the weather was fine. But after searching and listening for remote quacking, it was soon realized that maybe the ducks went out on their own accord and will hopefully come back home when they run out of money. It's known that this type of duck can't fly, so we know they are on webbed foot. 

Sure enough, after talking to all suspected fowl players in the area, there was no sign of Huey and Duey. Luey could be seen circling the pond all alone. Waiting. But there would be no return. Luey knows they are too big for hawks, but simply vanishing in the middle of the day is just not how ducks usually disappear. Since Luey was too upset to quack about it, no charges were filed. All search and rescue has subsided and just like that, in the middle of the day, 2 ducks are gone. Gone I say. 

Something had to be done about this because ducks are a flock animal. So, new friends were located for Luey and waa laa he now has 2 new girl friends. Yes, these girls can actually fly. And yes they are girls so maybe there will be more duck eggs again, eventually. We are hoping the girls do not fly away, as Luey can't fly and would be all alone again. 

Fast friends, 2 white young cutie pies

Luey took to the girls immediately, and the little girls were smitten as well. Then, once introduced up by the barn in a safe area, Luey lured them back to his ducking ways at the pond. 

The girls followed and everyone is living happily ever after for now. Thank you Keith, for that report.

Circling the drain

As David travels weekends during the UT football season, there was another mystery at the pond to solve while he was away. It all started when I went down in the early morning to feed the fish at the pond. While we are trying to grow our fish population, we fight against mother nature. Turtles eating the fish eggs. Cranes actually fishing in our pond. All the time. The cranes actually stand up on the turtle trap and fish. Ugh. These fish are a losing battle, esp as the water evaporates day by day. Yet, David and I keep trying all we can to keep fish alive and growing in the pond. Where was I. Oh yeah, I was throwing fish food out in the pond, and noticed something odd across the pond on the shore line. Wait! Is it one of the missing ducks? Please, I hope it's okay. I zip around the pond real quick like, and look down. It was not a duck. It was a baby crane stuck in the thick mud where the water meets the sticky dirt on the shore. The crane's razor sharp beak was stuck in a piece of the rope holding the turtle trap, and it had wiggled and wiggled trying to get un-stuck and got stuck even further in the thick mud. It was exhausted. 

Those feet are no joke.

At first, I thought it was dead. But no, it blinked. Without thinking that it's a wild animal, I reached down and tried to release it's beak from the rope. The tiny tiny threads of the rope had wrapped around its pointy, long super-sharp beak so much, it was even hard for me to free this crane's beak. After I was able to free this baby crane's beak free, its lower body was half buried in wet gooey mud. After I pulled it out, it just lay limp. Exhausted. I then picked it up and placed it in my now empty fish food plastic container. Now what.

Hummmm, what to do. Okay, I'll take it up to the house and wash it. Yep, I'll wash it and give it a drink with a small dropper. As I carried it up to the house, I wondered if it will live. Once at the house, I place this magical dinosaur, I mean crane, in the new farm sink we have in the kitchen and proceed to wash all the dirt and mud off it. It just lays there doing nothing. I dropper some water in its mouth. It does not seem pleased. Think, think, think, Cyndi. Okay, I'll mix up some oatmeal, peanut butter and honey. I'll try to spoon feed it as it does not seem fond of the dropper.

It's hard getting water and food in this crane's beak/mouth because it's beak is so freaking long. And sharp. If it was alert and healthy, it would have poked my eyes out by now. 

I think you should rest.

I wrapped little baby crane up in 2 towels to keep it warm and try to dry it. I then name it Diny because I swear it's a little dinosaur in my kitchen sink. I continue to spoon feed Diny, and then decide to let her rest for a long while in the sink. Drying, processing what just happened, and rest. Just rest, Diny.

I go about my business and come back to find her perked up. She's trying to sit up a bit. Great, I think. I put my hand down to her, and she reaches one of her legs out to my finger and BAM, her little toes are all wrapped around my finger. And she is strong. I think that her toes might strangulate my finger and so I attempt to peel off her toes, one at a time, from my finger. As I get one toe off, and another, she attaches her toe to my finger again and again. Finally, my finger is free. Okay, I think it's time for this wild thing to get back in the wild. I take her outside in the plastic bin and sun her to dry, giving her more water and food out there. 

Diny is not playing. 

She's looking pretty good. But now she's trying to move about and between her toes and razor pointy beak, I best get her to the pond again. 

After a morning of kitchen sink fun, off we go back to the pond. Diny and I will see how she does and go from there. 

She’s starting to move about 👍

Diny is still unsteady, but she has started to make crazy crane noises and open her long beak really wide at me. 

Diny had the nerve to get sassy with me,
even after our morning together. 
She's had enough of me. 

I already know how strong her toes are and how sharp her nails are. She and I agree that I'll leave her at the edge of the pond and come back and check on her in about an hour. She's starting to walk and move from the brush by the edge of the pond, to the pond and back. Very good. She has water and shade. See you in a bit!

I did go back to the pond as promised, but Diny had flown away. I was kind of sad about that. But I also know she could eat me if she really tried. She could stab that razor sword of hers straight through my heart and leave me for dead. Instead, she left to go find her people own kind. Maybe I'll see her again. Then again, I don't want her fishing in my pond and eating the fish. Either way, I enjoyed our time together, and have a heightened awareness of their majesty and wildness. Till we meet again, Diny.

Baby Farm Animals VS Baby Brooks

This is a toughie, because everyone loves farm animals. And everyone loves a baby, esp an extra cute grand baby. But we'll start with a few Brooks 🥰 VS Farm Animals:

Brooks VS……

Baby piggies 

This face VS……

Lil silkie chick face peeking out from mama

Bright eyes Brooks VS….

Dirty nosed Prissy

Brooks for the WIN every time. He's a month away from turning one year old and I would swear someone is stealing time. 

And so it goes

The mini horses are doing great, as Hope is acclimating more and more all the time, and Dora is as friendly as our dogs. She'd follow you around if you let her. The piggies are esp fun as they make such unusual noises of oinking and snorting. They are beginning to let me touch them, and you know I love that. Let's talk chickens.....

I was able to locate a photo of Brooke as a child

And some things never change ❤️

Speaking of chickens.....Sugar 😵

What's that on your chin?

Gotta keep my eye on you. I see evidence 
of fowl play.

All the chickens are doing fabulous and many are actually molting right now which means the barn and surrounding areas looks like a kill zone with feathers everywhere. Right, Sugar? 

The sheep are living high on life in the back pasture and are back to their usual fatness they once were. They are sweet as pie and always love a petting - esp Belle and Willow. Grace just wants treats, don't let her fool you into thinking she wants some love. The farm is in a rhythm that I've not seen before. It's peaceful, loving, easy and fun. Maybe not everyone's version of fun. It's definitely my kind of fun. Speaking of fun, the triathlon this weekend should be fun. Assuming the dog bite doesn't take a bad turn, I'm going to try and figure out how to swim with it 'not completely healed' yet in a river, whereby I've been told not to do that. I'm just a girl, looking at an owie, convincing myself it's all going to be alright. Every little thing is gonna be alright. After all, we can't always be rule followers. 

Just bending the rules not breaking them,

Cyndi

Pics are below if you care to look. Consider yourself warned 🚩

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After the bite

Day 2

Day 3 and it’s angry. I’ve marked
the redness to monitor it. 
Not to worry, I’m on antibiotics ✅

Nostalgia's Not What It Used To Be

 

Nostalgia, it's not nearly as awesome as it used to be. Very punny. Yet, recently I took a trip in my time machine back to 1963 and drove by the home I was raised in from 0 years old to 9th grade (approx). Good ole Lawler Rd in Garland, Tx. With no kids in my time machine asking if we are there yet, I was able to take my time and peek into the world of what-used-to-be. Somehow, I was convinced that there's no way the old neighborhood I grew up in would still be there. It's well over 50 years old, and I was certain it had been demolished. I just knew it. There's no way those houses are still there and I wonder what is there now?

Guess what! Those houses are still there, people are living in them, and they look great.

I think it used to be red bricked. Looks good painted!

I remember many things about living on Lawler Rd in Garland. Like walking up to the elementary school when you could actually walk to school and it's what people did. That, or biked. There was no school line for drop off. We walked to school and did so with friends. Boys pulled the girls bra straps on their backs and popped them and would laugh and laugh. The girls felt like that was a sign that a particular boy liked her. Somehow this was okay. We did not carry big backpacks because all the textbooks were kept at school most of the time. We had encyclopedia's at the house to use for research. We felt very extravagant to have them at the house, and I still remember the encyclopedia salesman ringing the doorbell and coming into our home. The salesman would be dressed in a suit and tie carrying a hard sided briefcase full of brochures and examples of his product. My mom and dad would sit at the kitchen table and listen to his spill. Sometimes, he would go get different books from his car to bring in and show other examples. I was always struck by how much he had to carry around in his car, like the resource dept in a library, just on-wheels. I only remember having 2 sets, well maybe 3 sets over the years, and remember how updated each set would be from the last. I'd sit on the floor and flip through the new set, trying to find my favorite pictures and topics, to see if they were still there and if they changed any. I don't think door to door encyclopedia salesman is an occupation any more. 

I remember feeling like there were a few special houses in the neighborhood that had huge backyards due to their location in the neighborhood. Ours was one of those. It felt like our backyard was as big as a football field. We even had soccer practice held regularly in the backity far back of our backyard for whatever team we were on at the time. Usually Dad was Coach, so it made sense and there was lots of room for drills. There was a chain link fence around the entire thing. In the part of the backyard closer to the house, Dad would plant any kind of fruit tree imaginable. It felt a bit like an orchard. Peach trees, fig trees (lots of fig trees), pear trees along with grapevines and rose bushes. I remember picking figs and peaches from the trees, putting them in paper grocery bags (no such thing as plastic grocery bags yet) and my sisters and I would sit out front and sell the bags of fruit for cheap. Our house was on the corner of Lawler Rd and Plano Rd and since Plano Rd was considered a big road and had more traffic, we always had lots of buyers for the fresh fruit. 

Hard to realize that was the big backyard 
with a chain link fence around it.

Now though, that big backyard has a church built on it, that actually attaches to my old house with an awning. I'm not sure how zoning works for that, but they did it. It had a sign that said Good News Church. They even had a church van, too. So instead of a back yard, there's now a church behind the house I grew up in. I would never had guessed that. I mean, after all, I didn't even know if the houses were still going to be there.....much less a church in the back yard. That gives the ole saying 'cash me outback how bout dah' a whole new meaning. 

Forestridge Elementary, where it all started

Ahhh, the days of walking to school. Picking up friends along the way at their houses. First, Angie Vervalin. Then, Debbie Milliken and sometimes Beth Turner. Beth Turner's dad worked for Dr Pepper, and had an actual Dr Pepper soda machine in their kitchen just like at the 7-11. I thought they were rich. When we got to the school, we would not go inside. We lined up. We waited in line until we were allowed to go inside the school. We would line up either by grade or by teacher, but I assure you we were well instructed on where and how to line up. Some teacher or someone in charge had a whistle and would blow it like a lifeguard at the pool to keep all the children in line. A whistle was respected. Once a person of authority had to raise their voice, everyone was in do-do trouble. And the troublemakers were well known, because as little boys and girls we were expected to 'be good and do as we were told'. Looking back, those troublemakers were probably the smartest ones of all. They pushed back against authority who told them to line up and be like everyone else. Not everyone wants to be put in a box, and there were always those who were the real rebels in life. Too bad they were looked upon as troublemakers rather than creative thinkers just trying to live their own life. They were not to be stifled. They held strong and were constantly reprimanded by the teachers for not listening and behaving. The troublemakers did not care though. They are probably the CEO of Amazon or founders of budding startups now. Go them.

The joys of junior high

Then the awkward days began. Jr high. Ugh. I'm having flashbacks just thinking about it. Everyone was in the process of 'becoming' who they were to be, and junior high is not a kind place to be when you're becoming yourself. To make things worse, there were the golden ones to remind you just how awkward you were. The golden ones were not like all the others. They were already on top of their game at such a young age. Most of the junior high was convinced that the golden ones were already having sex, too. I remember that being a topic at the lunch table. Yes, in junior high. I mean, everyone knew who was golden. It was obvious. But most of us were un-golden. We were the ones who were between trying-to-grow-up and trying-to-be-grown-up and forever fumbling while doing so. I was never so glad to get out of junior high and go to high school. Junior high was just a hard time in life. Still is actually, but we call them middle schoolers now. Stay awkward you guys. You'll get there. Luckily, most of us escape middle school to be ridiculed some more in high school. It's just not as bad there, and you've increased your coping skills enough to handle it all a little better.

Luckily, I did get to leave good ole Liberty Junior High and that's when we also left our house on Lawler Rd. We would be moving to a much bigger house on Longbow Dr in Garland. 

I remember my dad planting these crêpe myrtles.

No more Angie, Debbie or Beth just down the street anymore. No more walking to school, as we had continued to walk to junior high every day, as we had elementary school. The move to Longbow Dr would be at a time when I was entering 9th grade (which was high school then). I would make new friends in the area, have a room to myself, fight with my sisters more about clothes and things. Lots of new things happening and I was still just trying to navigate life. Oddly, I had a pet dove in my room who coo'd all the time, and I always wanted pets. So many pets please. Mom said No. She said she already had enough people to take care of and was a strong women who could put her foot down. You could try to argue your case, but you'd likely end up grounded. Oh yeah, grounded. That was the story of my life in high school. I was always grounded. In my room. Grounded for a week. For a weekend. For like 4 years straight in high school. Looking back, I think that was my mom's way of keeping us safe and keeping an close eye on us. We were forever grounded. I got so sick of being grounded that I ran away, and when I came back (the next day) I was forever grounded again. I threw in the towel and waited out time to go to college. My mom was probably just as excited when I left for college. No more keeping track of me. At college, my mom and dad would call me on Sundays at the same time each week after church. No cellphones of course. They would find out a weekly check if I was still alive and well. After all, it was a long distance call and charged as such, so we spoke briefly to keep the costs down.

I did not take a photo of the high school I attended, Berkner High School. There, I was part of the fighting Ram Band, a BQ as it was called back then. We were proud, too. I was in the Drum Corp and that - along with advanced math classes (because in math there is always a way to find the answer) I remained sane enough to make it through and head to Texas A&M from there. Let's just say that it took a long time for me to grow up and I'm still working on it today. I'll leave it at that. The good news in all this was that the exception to being grounded was that I could still go to band practice - and school. So there was that. 

As I drove around the Garland area, I remembered my mom wanting us to live in Garland but go to Richardson schools. And somehow she found the neighborhoods whereby we could do that. At the time, Garland schools had a passing grade of 60, and Richardson had a higher standard of a passing grade of 70. I think my mom felt like having us in Richardson schools would somehow help us push ourselves more because the grade scale was harder there. Regardless, us 3 red-headed girls never would really need to worry much about getting a 60 or 70 in any class anyway because we would probably lose our lives if that happened. 

When I arrived back home in my time machine, I realized how nervous I had been about going back to my old neighborhood(s) I grew up in. Garland is not all that far from where I live anyway. I have just never made the trek there since I can remember. While driving there, I felt tension and nervousness in my body. What would it be like? How would I feel? Turns out, it would be comforting. And I would feel that I was glad I went. Everything's changed around there now. New businesses, although I did see Steve Hendrick's dads Donut Shop still there. I don't think he's still running it though. So many new food and grocery store options. I could see how someone would like living there. It's nice there. Despite the fact I was convinced it would somehow be gone. It was there. It was thriving - and it was a wonderful trip down Nostalgia Lane. I'd do it again. I don't think I will wait so long to go back next time. Turns out, nostalgia's what it used to be.

Hogwash

Because I can, I thought it would be a good idea to get a couple of mini piglets. 

Magnolia and Priscilla 

Why, you ask? That's the most common question I've gotten lately. It all stemmed from a conversation with a friend who was rehoming quite a few of her farm animals, and said to me, "I'm definitely going to keep my pigs though". Really now. She's keeping her pigs. That one comment made a huge impression on me and I sat on it for quite some time. Then, a visit to Craigslist showed me a couple of piglets calling my name. One who happened to be a black 6 week old mini pig in Van Alstyne. David was in Houston at MD Anderson having his scans completed and seeing doctors. I was buying piglets. 

Prissy

Initially I named her Rebecca. Turns out David preferred to name her Priscilla. Prissy for short. Done. She's tiny but mighty. Don't let her size fool you. And pigs are smart. They are like dogs. They can come when called, learn their name and get the zoomies. Who knew.

When I went to get Prissy's roommate the next day in Sherman, turns out she’s 6 months old. The size difference was incredible. 

Maggie

David named her Magnolia, Maggie for short. Yes, he named them while he was in Houston. It seemed like the fair thing to do. I buy them, he names them. Prissy and Maggie. 

She’s a typical little sister 

Turns out Prissy was SO excited to see Maggie. And they do very well together, sharing food and snuggles. 

Prissy instantly loved Maggie and they have been partners in crime since. Did I mention how smart they are? They have a piggy salad in the mornings, and their pig grain in the evenings. Currently, they are in a fenced area, but eventually, I'd like to let them free range like we do with the chickens (once they get a little bigger) and then pen them at night. We'll see what happens. This is all so new. I mean, when I pick one of them up they cry and squeal like I was gonna have them for dinner. Turns out pigs don't like to be held. It's something they would have to get used to it and you can practice it with them. Ultimately, I don’t think pigs are held as adults. But I’m still new to this pig thing. 

He’s not completely convinced about this.

So far so good on the pig front. They make a wonderful addition around here. They are easy. And Easy St is one of my favorite places to be when it comes to farm animals. And baby farm animals are the best.

MDA and I don't mean the telethon

'Member that?! Jerry Lewis and the MDA telethon each year? As fun as that is to reminisce, I'm actually speaking about David's recent return to MD Anderson in Houston. Living scan to scan is life with cancer. It's what we do. David is scan to scan and I'm actually lab to lab. Either way, we both had our oncologist visits, scans and labs. 

I'll start with David. He had his usual 2-3 month PET scan and MRI. Then, he sees his radiation and chemo oncologist and medical oncologist as well. They read his scans and reviewed his labs. They help him with his side effects that linger from cancer treatment. They discuss options for his thyroid damage from radiation. They review his sinuses and thickening of the lining that has occurred. They are there to guide, review, and assist in David's ongoing cancer journey. SNUC will sneak up on you if you're not looking. Turns out, David's PET showed a clear scan. We are elated! Thank you, God. They remind us that micro particles do not show on scans, so we must keep doing the PET and MRI's every 2-3 months. And he will, no problem. For now though, another visit completed and moving on with life again. Hip Hip Hooray! We try hard not to take this for granted. It feels good.

Then it was my turn. I had my usual labs and visited with my oncologist. My numbers were not that great, and typically a phlebotomy would be indicated and completed that same day. But not that day. Why? Because my oncologist knows I have a life and is my biggest medical cheerleader for my Ironman triathlon training. He asked when my next races are. He asks how I'm feeling. He knows if he draws blood off me, my iron count will start to plummet again, and I'll begin to feel more fatigued. So we make an agreement. He'll allow me to not have a phlebotomy so that I can keep my numbers in a range that I feel like I can continue training for a long distance triathlon and still be monitored and watched. My oncologist knows that some of my numbers that are off can stay that way in the short term, while I realize my dream of a couple (2) of Ironman races in the next 8 months. He records this information in my chart, and gives me grace by allowing me to feel the best that I'm able to feel. Taking blood away, then giving iron back is a rollercoaster. He knows it. I know it. My oncologist wants me to be able to race triathlons and running races just as much as I do. He's amazing. My own medical cheerleader making special (safe) situations happen so that I can feel as good as possible. It doesn't get better than that. Just because I have cancer doesn't mean I don't have dreams that I want to realize and live out. He's on Team Cyndi. Thank you, Dr Athar. I couldn't do this without you. Really. I couldn't. Again, I thank God for David's and I's healthcare teams. They allow us to keep living life, dreaming, and realizing our dreams - cancer and all. I have to remind myself  'I Am Worthy'. It just seems so overwhelming to me sometimes that I have this opportunity. It's these opportunities that I will not let pass me by, as they are given and I am grateful to receive them. When I'm training, I push hard for all the people who can't. 

Who else is in training..... 

As our sweet grandson, Brooks stands freely, walks along the edge of the couch or other objects, we also find ourselves in awe of God's grace. Brooks will be walking soon. He's training right now, moving upright along anything he can get his hands on. He stands often and as much as possible. He's practicing and training for that first step on his own. It won't be long now. Because you know what happens after he walks......he runs. 

Loving the whipped cream Pops made. 

We celebrated both Ryan’s and Lauren’s birthday and Brooks was all about the treats, which is not normally in his daily diet. But we are at Nana’s, and the rule is Dessert First. And sometimes, a balloon is fun and scary at the same time. 

Stay wild,

Cyndi