Le monde de fromage de Kate

Ever-discerning Terry sent me the PERFECT greetings for this day:

Thank you, Terry, and thanks to I Can Has Cheez Burger. I think it’s SUCH a lovely chapeau, perfect for any and every occasion.

Oh – and I’m sure all y’all thought I was going to talk about breasts today. Yup, I said it: BREASTS, BREASTS, BREASTS! (Go Google, GO!) I decided to wait until tomorrow. I wanted to make the point that we needn’t limit discussion of breast cancer awareness and breast health JUST to Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Tomorrow, at the ungodly bright, early hour of 8:00 a.m. I am getting my very first mammogram. Breast Cancer Awareness month is almost over, and I thought this was an appropriate finale to this time frame. Also tomorrow, in furtherance of Breast Cancer AWARENESS, I thought I might make everyone AWARE that they’ve been extraordinarily remiss – nay – NEGLECTFUL of the worthy goals of Team Tiny Pineapple.

The idea was to raise a mere $250 for Susan G. Komen for the Cure. The suggested donation was only $5. FIVE DOLLARS! Let me put that into even more clear perspective; I found five dollars – if I can find five dollars, anyone can pull together five dollars. Seriously, ANYONE.

Incidentally, I did not know that you could not wear lotion or deodorant/antiperspirant to a mammogram. Did you know that? This is what my Mother tells me anyway, and she has experience in the area. She claims they will actually reschedule your appointment if you don either beforehand.

It did occur to me that perhaps she thought it might be really hilarious to see what happens if I go in and say to the Radiology Technologist, “I’m not wearing any deodorant; let’s get started!” If the tech backs off I will know this was her devious plan.

Yes, I’m a copy-Kitten-Child. Grettir said he was “going pink for October,” so I had to find out all about it. Google it, and you find, among a myriad of links, Pink for October.

And in the time it took for me to muck up my site imposing the “Hills-Pink” template on it and (sort of) fixing it again, Grettir had established “Team Tiny Pineapple.” That’s why he’s the guru. As for going “pink,” it’s really very simple and doesn’t involve ANY STRIPES WHATSOEVER – I promise:

Take part in Pink for October, a campaign to help raise awareness of, and money for, breast cancer research as part of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Please join the Tiny Pineapple Team and help raise money for Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

A wise man once said:

ASSUMPTION makes an “ASS” out of you and “UMPTION.”

Insightful words, indeed.

I haven’t been “back East” since I chopped off my hair. I ASSUMED that the humidity would make it more curly and frizzy. I was prepared to tame the wild curl, I was ready to battle wanton frizziness. I was an idiot.

The first time I washed my hair and utilized my various products was on LIVESTRONG® Day – the day that we were to go visit the legislators and have a press conference and all that.

It was not long before, “OH, the horror, THE HORROR!” And that wasn’t just because I hadn’t realized until it was too late that someone had “lightened” my luggage by removing my antiperspirant/deodorant. MY HAIR HAD TAKEN ON A LIFE OF ITS OWN. Now, as many of you may know, this isn’t the first time that has happened. But this was EXTREME. It wasn’t super curly. It wasn’t even exactly frizzy. It simply had taken on, root to tip, an unimaginable VOLUME defying every law of gravity old and new. I was speechless (imagine that) and awestruck.

But doesn’t everyone DREAM of having a bunch of very important meetings and being part of a press conference when they look and smell their very worst? I thought not.

Throughout the wretchedly hot/humid day, I kept trying to calm my tresses (I spoke gently to them, touched them softly – I was the “hair whisperer”). I continuously tucked and re-tucked the whole lively shebang behind my ears. The gallons of sweat seemed to weigh it down – don’t think I’m going to pretend for one moment that I was merely “glowing” and not drenched in my own wretched FUNK and FETOR.

At our rest building – WHERE I WOULD REMOVE MY JACKET AND LET PEOPLE SEE MY ARMS IN A SLEEVELESS BLOUSE – THAT’S HOW HOT I WAS – I had a couple of moments here and there in which, from the front, my coif still looked really horrible, but it seemed I had domesticated it just a little – smushing and sweat soothe the savage beast?

Then the “official” pictures, taken by the professional photographers, were released. Here’s the one that let me know that truth – the entire, awful reality:

Delegates Mill About Prior to the Press Conference

Perhaps you don’t see it? Get a little closer. I’ve blurred the unessential parts:

Kermit & Kate Confer
(I somehow blurred off my own nose. I’m talented like that.)

Still can’t see it? I doubt this very much. But just in case, let me REALLY focus in on the ghastly part:

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I made it even more grotesque. Now EVERYTHING is blurry, even the sections I did intentionally “soften,” and I somehow made it look like I’m bleeding from the ear and that I have a mole on my jaw the size of a quarter (American).

I thought I’d “tamed” it, while it had just HIDDEN from me. I look like I’ve affixed a wild animal to the back of my head. Dead? Alive?! You decide. But WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT THING?

I’d have loved to say which animal, but I honestly couldn’t think of a genus and species that repelled me so much that wasn’t in the arachnid family; this is quite obviously a mammal. I’m open to suggestions.

On a more positive note, my skin, for the most part, liked the humidity. My knees have never been so very soft. My hands were spotted and irritated on and off (I never did figure out why – perhaps an acute case of temporary leprosy), and I was bitten by several DOZEN anonymous creatures (of the insect variety*, no doubt), but for the most part it was pleasant not to have the flaky dry places – ‘specially under my nose, because MY ALLERGIES DID NOT COME WITH ME – rather a miraculous thing. In fact, I just laid in bed sometimes, luxuriating in the fact that I could BREATHE THROUGH MY NOSE completely unencumbered and giggled with delight.

As for the *insects, David, in his über-unflustered way, almost SIGHED one day because of the fifty-third time I’d cried out, “I don’t know what it is, BUT IT IS GOING TO EAT ME!” or something else along those lines. He calmly said, “Kate, it’s like being in National Geographic.”

He lived in Brazil for two years. I had never thought of Maryland as that…mysterious. Perhaps all the nature film crews should now quietly crawl through the gardens and bathrooms and attics and guestrooms of houses there whispering, “I have NEVER seen anything with so many legs that moves so FAST.”

Now I’m finding a certain logic to the idea of moving LIGHTENING-fast if you have three million legs. You think I exaggerate? Ha!

I had a very special traveling companion on my trip to D.C./Maryland/dipping into Virginia/Stalled in St. Louis/Fin. Dear Mr. Peek-A-Boo Radley consented to accompany me on my grand adventures. It’s nice to have a traveling companion, because then you can take pictures of THEM, rather then the alternative – pictures of YOU [me, that is].

For the Fourth of July holiday, Peek-A-Boo thought he’d give you some insight into Fort McHenry, the site where Francis Scott Key penned the words to A Star is Born. No – wait – something else with “star” in it – ah yes – The Star-Spangled Banner.

Ah. “The Flag is full of stars.”
Photo Courtesy of my Baby Brother.

And there isn’t a better story for the Fourth of July, as years ago, during the War of 1812, on September 13, 1814 (you can see how all the dates go so well together), attorney Frances Scott Key and his Colonel friend went to see if they could get their doctor associate off a British prison ship. The Brits said, “Okay, FINE, but first we’ll put you on of one of OUR boats with a really funny name* and then we’ll put you back on your own sloop and make you watch us lob really big bombs at your mates in the fort all night.” I’m not kidding.

But, in the wee hours of the morn on September 14, 1814, Francis Scott Key could see that the ENORMOUS “Garrison Flag” (30 feet by 42 feet – not subtle) was still flying and the Brits were making a hasty (but dignified – harrumph, harrumph) retreat.

A Replica of the Garrison Flag Flies over Fort McHenry
Photo Courtesy of The National Park Service.

Key was inspired to write the famous text that millions and millions of people ALMOST know and mumble at important patriotic events (like baseball games and basketball games and football games). And because he, even under duress had a sense of humour, The Star-Spangled Banner was ultimately set to the British tune “The Anacreontic Song” (commonly referred to as “To Anacreon in Heaven”) because he and his associates had been put by the Brits onto the *H.M.S. Surprise. I’m sure that was his reasoning.

Now many consider “The Anacreontic Song” to be a drinking tune. In fairness, it should be noted that, though it contains certain Bacchanalian themes, it was the “official song of the Anacreontic Society, an 18th-century club of amateur musicians in London.” And who are WE to question Wikipedia. Re-write it, yes, Question it, NOOOO. Well, I admit they DO mention this:

This absence of an official connection to drinking did not keep the song from being associated with alcohol, as it was commonly used as a sobriety test: If you could sing a stanza of the notoriously difficult melody and stay on key, you were sober enough for another round.

As you will see, we were certainly sober (COLD sober) enough to enjoy numerous rounds of the festive attractions at Fort McHenry. We started in the visitor’s center cum museum. Peek-A-Boo Radley thought it was “da bomb.”

Oh, I see! This one DIDN’T explode; therefore it’s INTACT.
Photo Courtesy of my Baby Brother.

We met Ranger Bill. According to his colleague (just out of the frame on the left in the image below) he is ORIGINAL from the War of 1812. Ha ha ha.

Ranger Bill Meets Peek-A-Boo Radley
Photo Courtesy of my Baby Brother.

Then we saw a scale model of that famous battle that took place on and around September 13-14, 1814. It had lights, movement – the Government must of paid handsomely for the thing.

Peek-A-Boo Did Not TOUCH It
Photo Courtesy of my Baby Brother.

But wait, that’s a diorama made by a grade-school student. I tell you, it was so much better than the (no doubt) bazillion-dollar monstrosity that took up the whole center of the visitor’s center that we didn’t even take a picture of the “real” model.

Then we ventured out to the Fort proper. Throughout history, as I understand it, Fort McHenry has been a sort of defensive stronghold, a super-star fort, a garrison for Civil War Troops, a prison for Confederate soldiers during/after the Civil War, the largest WWI hospital in the country (evidently they just tore those buildings down in the 1920′s when they didn’t need them any more), and then it was apparently stripped down and rebuilt to super-star Fort status again.

Fort McHenry has many little nooks and crannies. Some of them are in the Sally Yard and some of them…are not. No, I don’t know what the “Sally Yard” is. Though it mentioned on numerous signs, the literature wasn’t very specific about it (translation = I didn’t bother to find out in any of the pamphlets what the “Sally Yard” is/was). Here’s a powder prison:

WATCH OUT! Peek-A-Boo’s a PYROMANIAC!
Photo Courtesy of my Baby Brother.

OHHHHH – THERE’S more, MORE, MORE and you’ll want to see it…I DARE you to continue…

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Almost one exactly one month after LIVESTRONG® Day 2007, I wrote a VERY LONG ENTRY about – okay about everything: About my experiences, about my thoughts, about what I hoped everyone would be willing to do to help fight CANCER, the number ONE killer in the U.S. of individuals under the age of eighty-five.

I thought I’d cut to the chase with this post. I want to ask for two things:

1. If you live in the U.S., please contact your Senators and your Congressional Representatives and ask them to support The Cancer Screening, Treatment and Survivorship Act of 2007. Bi-partisan, bicameral legislation – what more could you want? Follow this link and the Lance Armstrong Foundation will help you format messages for your legislators. If they are already sponsors or co-sponsors of the bill (you can find out by looking on the Library of Congress Thomas Locator and entering enter bill numbers S1415 for the Senate and H2353 for the House).
2. Please – EVERYONE – join the LIVESTRONG® Army. And please let me know about it. It’s simply about a commitment to help take care of those who are or who could be affected by cancer. Simply put, it can be a commitment to take care of yourself. Help make cancer a WORLDWIDE priority.

   Do it for your family, do it for any of the myriad individuals I’ve mentioned previously – those who are surviving, those who have survived, those who did not. I can always add to that list, unfortunately: Do it in memory of Taryn’s Father or do it memory of Henrike’s dear friend, Karen. It’s not difficult to find a compelling reason.

Don’t make me kneel and beg, PRETTY PLEASE! It’s not attractive; my knees bend with a gruesome and thunderous crack from which you should all be spared. Thank you!

I’ve barely talked at all about LIVESTRONG® Day; perhaps I’m finding it a little daunting. It was a humbling yet inspiring experience. Of approximately 200 delegates I was one of only a handful who had not personally survived cancer. And many of the survivors were oncologists and cancer survivors or the heads of advocacy organizations and cancer survivors – you get the picture.

It was also a whirlwind. Since I missed my morning flight on May 14th the only flight I could get left at 11:50 p.m. and had a stopover in Atlanta. I arrived at the hotel just as the training had started. Lance (I can call him that now – once you’re part of the “team” it’s your privilege*) spoke at the training – rushing in to talk and then straight out as he was between meetings and TV interviews the entire time he was in D.C. I did get several cell phone videos of him, one in which he mistakes one of the delegates for Bill Cosby. That was most funny, as you’ll hear if I ever post the video because I cackle right into the speaker the entire time (NOTE TO KATE: When taking videos, remember that you’re RIGHT NEXT TO THE LIL’ SPEAKER). It was a whirlwind for everyone from there.

There was a reception that night at ESPN Sports, most of which I missed, because I’d read my email, which included Kari’s obituary. I went to tell some other delegates that I’d like to know the way to the reception, in case I decided to come later, but that I wasn’t going to go with them. I had scarcely walked out of my room and to the elevators, when another delegate looked at my face and asked me what was wrong. I broke down, of course, and she sent her husband and son, who were visiting downstairs, and she sat with me on a couch to console me. To console ME. This incredible woman is a breast cancer survivor (diagnosed two weeks apart from her sister). I expressed to her that sometimes I felt so horrible because I just felt like everyone was sick and dying all about me; I sometimes feel like a bizarre epicenter of illness and death (even though intellectually I know that’s ridiculous). And then I conveyed how guilty that made me feel; I was never the dying one. This woman, with short, short-cropped hair, probably indicating that she’d had a round of chemo not all that long ago, said that sometimes she thought it was harder to be on the outside. Bless her.

Bless them all, actually. Everyone was like that; ready to show you what to do and how to get there. And when I did go to the reception for a moment, a delegate from Idaho with whom I’d spoken on and off that day came up to me. I know I looked lost and a little dazed. She, too, asked what was wrong and hugged me as the tears fell again. Then this incredible woman – she and her husband are both cancer survivors – said the same words, “Sometimes I think it’s harder to be on the outside.”

The next day we were to take the requests of the Lance Armstrong Foundation to the legislators for our specific states. A delegate from Virginia rescued me as I was running to the Metro and put me in the cab with him and insisted on paying the fare because “he worked with another group for whom he could write if off.” And as he had extra time, he took me not only into the building for the members of the House, but to the very office where my first meeting was to be. Kermit, the other delegate from Utah guided me everywhere else all day (as he’s been on the circuit speaking with the legislators for other advocacy groups with which he works). He’s a prostate cancer survivor, and in the second or third email I ever exchanged with him provided amazing research links. Hope for my Father. Hope that I didn’t think existed.

The meetings were productive (I hope – I’ll talk more about that later). There was an unfortunate situation that I noticed too late to fix it; I had NO antiperspirant/deodorant with me (there was a noble effort of to make my suitcases light enough as I was almost out the door – Shirleen and my Mom generously helped me and gracefully ignored the rather ungenerous, hysterical comments I made while they assisted me. Don’t worry, they’ve already obtained my most sincere apologies and they are getting presents, too). It seems that the antiperspirant/deodorant did not survive the cut (and I did not notice in time to do anything about it). At least my luggage was not over the weight limit.

I suppose I mention this in case you ever run into a Utah legislator who remembers LIVESTRONG® Day 2007 and happens to recall the distinguished older gentleman who said just enough and the younger delegate who smelled…funny…and had difficulty shutting her trap.

All day I thought about and talked about those I loved for whom I wanted freedom from cancer to be a reality as well as those who had lost their battles with this disease – this insidious killer that takes the lives of 560,000 people a year. The worst part is that about a third of those deaths could be prevented with equitable healthcare and early screening. I only had to remember that fact and I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone in the world so that I could be part of the effort to change those statistics.

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Sunday afternoon we received a call that my Uncle Ron would die that day. His final diagnosis included extremely advanced liver cancer, lung cancer and esophageal cancer. Concerning the rest, either his family thought that was plenty to share with us, or the possibility of the pain associated with continued examinations made them unwarranted. As for his prognosis, if you know anything about end-of-life care, you know the sorts of things that lead a physician to tell you that the patient will die that day. If you don’t know, it’s best left as I would describe it – unimaginable. Nevertheless, Uncle Ron lingered on until Monday night.

Evidently, the week before he died he felt relatively well and was in good enough shape to attend the funeral of a friend and enjoy the company of his family the day before he entered the hospital. That night, before his hospital admission in the morning, he spoke for the very last time. “I Love You,” he said to my Aunt Joan.

Uncle Ron was a professional photographer for many, many years. His obituary says:

Ron’s life passion and hobby was photography, and [he] had the unique pleasure of doing what he loved. As owner of Ashton Henderson Photography, he took great pleasure in capturing the beauty of nature and creating lasting memories with his portrait work.

And, I guess, in the true spirit of always being the photographer, there was no picture with his obituary (also online for the time being here) and I haven’t any with me.

But he took countless photographs all those years – a legacy of images. Here are a very, very few examples:

Above is my parents’ very favourite picture that Uncle Ron took on the day of their wedding, September 10, 1965. So they took the original and hung it on the wall (without glass). The resultant sun damage, stains and scratches are very pronounced. When Uncle Ron learned that we wanted to use enlargements of their wedding pictures for my Parents’ Fortieth Wedding Anniversary and that the best-loved image was damaged, he found the original negative and made a new print (from which I made a SCAN for them to hang). Unfortunately, I have yet to manage a good scan of this picture; I will try again:

I cropped the black and white photo above from one of the portraits Uncle Ron took at Mom and Dad’s reception for their Anniversary invitation. He took a great assortment of coloured and black and white images on that occasion.

Uncle Ron also took all our family portraits. For some odd reason this is the only one I have on my computer at the moment:

Uncle Ron, naturally, cannot be held accountable for any wardrobe or coiffure choices. Nor can is he responsible for any vaguely cockeyed looks; it’s a small miracle to take a picture in which my eyes AND my father’s are open.

I will miss you, Uncle Ron. I look back fondly on the trips the families used to take – staying at The Homestead, going to Yellowstone or The Tetons or to Bozeman. I love the memory of that blue Sears jumpsuit you used to wear and the gallant protection you afforded us from that gander which landed you “in the drink.” When I see all the pictures you took, the weddings, funerals, the family gatherings – all the rites of passage it seems – I shall always think of you.

For quite a long time, when someone was dying or had died, a particular song has come to my mind – a lovely piece called “Mark’s Song” by Eastmountainsouth.

Here are the lyrics, especially for Glen, for Kari, for Grandma Wanda’s Charley, and for Uncle Ron:

may your soul be blessed
may your body rest
on the mountain where you were born
may your spirit soar
where there’s joy ever more
may you find your way in peace

and there’s no more harm
in your Savior’s arms
see you fly away in the sky
did you hear the call of angels one and all
may you find your way in peace

may you know you’re loved
may you shine above
on the mountain where you were born
may your spirit soar
there’s no pain anymore
may you find your way in peace

and there’s no more harm
in your Savior’s arms
see you fly away in the sky
did you hear the call of angels one and all

may you find your way in peace
may you find your way in peace
may you find your way in peace

May you find your way in peace, Uncle Ron. And may you find peace, Aunt Joan, Kevin and your family, Janell and your family, and my Grandma L., as well as those members of Uncle Ron’s family I do not know.